


Nag Kath Book Six; Marriage in Matching Time

by Gelansor



Series: Nag Kath [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 95,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelansor/pseuds/Gelansor
Series: Nag Kath [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155053





	1. Marriage in Matching Time

**_Marriage in Matching Time_ **

**_The sixth and last book of Nag Kath_ **

****

**_Chapter 1_ **

**_Marriage in Matching Time_ **

He did not intend to be a wizard.

He did not intend to be greater, or superior, or exercise power over others who did not do so themselves. Wakeful rest brought less peace, less restoration. Back among free-peoples it was easier to blend. For this adventure he was not famous at all. The fallen were honored. The stone was in a new tower now. Nag Kath was a little annoyed that no one ever mentioned the dratted rock to the last remaining sorcerer. It wasn't secret. Such talismans were simply past the interest of mortal men. Elves weren't even a memory anymore. In fairness, it was an Elvish device and his niche was black residue.

  
Nag Kath embraced solace in his marriage. He found the one creature in Middle-earth who would not leave him behind. He saved her because he saved all. Love grew. Giving her so much of his own life-spirit was not intended but he was glad he did. She had long been drawn to him. Once past her childish anxiety, they were kindred. He allowed himself a small smile that lore writers might call this destiny. He merely recognized comforting patterns.

  
But there was a sadness he hadn't felt before. This was not the loss of mortal love. That was worse, but it softened with time. This was the sense that he was running out of wonder. Should he take his love to Miraz and journey east to vast seas unseen by any known peoples? Would they need greater and greater experiences? Or must they learn the patience of the firstborn in a land where no one else could. Would they need to cross the great sea? Inariel was the key. When she caught him in life, it must become clearer.   
  
For the time being Nag Kath just wanted to reflect. He considered himself a lesser wizard in historical perspective. That said; he was the only one left in a world where no human had seen his like. As he got further from the age of magic that was more frightening to mortal men. His companions in the Mordor campaign took sorcery in stride. A century later, half of the crew on the Amrûn expedition prayed he would not bewitch them – except Mattosh who wanted to know why he didn’t enflame entire armies.

There was justice that Sauron misinterpreted the visions to his doom. That didn’t seem purposeful – just that he was too quick to judge what seemed obvious in his arrogance. Aragorn told his children that the black king sent all nine of his Ring-wraiths after Frodo. Maybe he thought Pip was the bearer in the Palantir and that Aragorn had claimed it when Saruman's stone fell into allied hands. That would explain his rushing to war. Whether it was coordinated or not, that was exactly when Orlo stuck a pike in the cog and delayed Sauron's main infantry columns. That perfect piece of the puzzle restored the changeling's grin.

These portents certainly turned the concept of necromancy on its ear. Men of the west reviled eastern conjurers who were said to summon the dead. But the west had, by far, the more powerful summoning! Aragorn recalled thousands of ghosts to lay waste to the Pelennor attackers - raising the dead to life. In Harad, The Kath, incarnate aspect or Orloch, was considered just as powerful for having killed thousands of reserves in the dead marshes. He paid it no mind at the time but that was one of Chievon's insults when she was first taken.  
Perhaps the most important lesson was that even black lords can be confused with misleading clues that play to their vanity – Nag Kath’s specialty.

Over the next eighteen months, news trickled north that the Hûk confrontation became a genuine war. It was not destructive or particularly bloody, but it did stretch both time and resources. Tulbar was wounded and had not attempted to cross the Chelkar after Ongaruth’s raid. To the south, Amrûn was made a protectorate of Sakûn’s eastern empire but he never committed troops to invest the city. In the hundred years of Nag Kath's travels, those rivers carried a lot more water which made crossing that much more perilous. Diplomatic overtures were made to New Amrûn by both Ancalimon and Mírlond.

Chievon was doing rather well. It seems she had a gentleman visitor from Osgiliath – a handsome marine whose father owned a shop near the first tank. She was still exquisite and did not age any faster than everyone else. Ro treated her like a lady.

In the year F.O. 134 they lost Reyaldar and Heuris Conath within a month of each other, ending that generation of Nag Kath’s great grandchildren. Both were eighty seven, always devoted, always constant. Nag Kath was by their sides. Raniece, Borond, their son, his wife and three children sailed to the city for a memorial. It was also to see her sister in for the first time in five years. Rey would not have stood for more than a few days in mourning and the rest of the time the families talked old times and let the young people enjoy themselves.

Since he was there, Nag Kath rode, shot and marched in the last two militia weeks when the Zurowen family went to Emyn Arnen. With Tulbar and Sakûn bottled along their respective rivers, the fervor of the last few years had waned, but men were much sharper than five years ago, even in sleepy Belfalas. Raniece’s family caught a ferry from a newer dock on the east bank directly across from Barahir’s capital after telling her sister that it was her turn to come for home for Catanards!

_____________--------_____________

Tensions to the south had dominated politics for four years but that was only the bottom edge of the massive Kingdom. King Eldarion consulted with Rohan, Dale and his peoples of Arnor agreeing to hold a council in Edoras in the summer of F.O. 135. Among the topics was formally ceding the areas west of the River Running to Dale. Everyone there thought of themselves as Dalish, paid taxes to the Buhrs and looked to that King for protection if the Easterlings misbehaved.

This was the first convocation of its kind in ten years and was, in large part, a reminder of who the friends were. Matters of trade were more important than armies in this age of safe paths. Frör was sending his second son and heir from Erebor. Representatives of the Glittering Caves would come along with a half-dozen Hobbits. Arnor annexed Lindon while Nag Kath was in Angmar. It was at least seventy years after the last Swan-ship sailed, a grace the Elves had requested, reinforced by wards (probably Galadriel's), and was honored. That opened the entire coast for the trading ships of the west. 

Inariel had her wakeful rest on better footing. She still slept once or twice a week. Her husband gave her unlimited time, which they had. Considering the turmoil in her body until the change, this did not seem undue. She had been a Princess, a widow, important every moment of her life, but she had not been an Elf very long. Inariel remembered her mother singing to her in words she did not understand. Songs must have meant more than a lullaby to enter sleep. 

When the conference was announced, Inariel met her liege privately to ask, “Dearest brother, I would like to go to the moot with Nag Kath and then to the Woodland Realm, perhaps to stay some time.”

“Of course you are welcome. Have you spoken to your husband about this?”

She smiled, “Over the years he has mentioned it many times but has never insisted. Somehow he knew I would want to learn more of what I have become. I am finally learning his patience.” She smiled again, “Mother had all but given up.”

Eldarion considered, “I cannot speak for Stelhorn of Dale, but I expect their own Lord Kath would be welcome to travel with them on their return, if that is your intention, little sister.”

“I should think so, but I will discuss it with Nag. There are places that may have unpleasant associations for him.” She said very quietly, “I am ready to see Lorien. It might give me peace and help me understand mother's songs to me. Perhaps that is better done on the way back.”

The King smiled at his immortal sister. She would never have the gray hairs now lining his temples. “Just let me know what you decide.”

_____________------____________

Inariel was not sure how Nag Kath would take being invited to travel the length of the west after doing so in the east, but this was important to her so she gently broached, “Dear husband, I have decided to take your advice and visit the Mirkwood Elves. I think I am ready.”

He looked up from his book, “Splendid! I can show you Dale and Lake Town! If you are not in haste, perhaps we can ride along with your Lord Brother.”

She was expecting that to be much harder. Nag Kath never seemed to mind long travel. He had certainly done a lot of it. Men would rise sore and a day older. He didn’t. In for a groat, in for a Florin she admitted, “I have already asked.”

“Good, when do we leave?”

At seventy-five, Barahir would let his son and heir Tyaldran deputize for the Principality. Lord Olberan of Dol Amroth was doing the same for his da. Eldarion was older than either prince at ninety-two but would probably live longer than his own father. He hadn’t seen the Governor of Arnor in three years and it was time. Queen Aranthal, in her eighties, was happy to follow Barahir’s example and stay home. Barahir took his old job back as Steward so Prince Elhidron could ride with his father. The heir needed to know these people more than anyone.

There were relatively few women this time and they were mounted astride so the progress moved at almost the speed of cavalry. They made Edoras soaking wet but in reasonable time with no injuries. As royalty, the Kaths were entitled to quarters in the Meduseld. He would rather have stayed at one of the new inns. 

Since they were not passing-through this time and not part of the deliberations, Nag Kath took his Princess to the seamier quarters and showed her where he drew the fateful picture of the young girl. There was Dornlas’ house, and Lord Altheras’ apartments near the great hall. King Halath was poorly but forced himself to greet the lords steadied by Prince Theodred. His interest in hosting the event was to introduce the man they would know as King before long. He remembered the Elves fondly and the return of the sword. 

King Stelhorn of Dale arrived two days later with his entourage. Nag Kath made a point of introducing himself, apart from his lady wife. It was forty-four years since Nag Kath was in Dale. How could it have been that long? Stelhorn was Barandor’s grandson, thirty three years of age and clean-shaven. Bard the Bowman’s Northmen were in Minas Tirith! 

The Arnor contingent was the last to arrive. That was typical because they stopped for the Hobbits and traveling with Hobbits is a very slow business. If you are patient, it is also the very best way to travel, but Arnorans are not known for taking their leisure. One of Governor Durantir’s counselors was Tougas, a Dúnedain of Aragorn’s northern peoples. He was stock of the longest-lived men in Middle-earth. The man looked fifty and was not quite twice that. He rode in the Angmar raid of 101. They spent several hours together, some with Inariel, discussing the details and supposing the gaps. There were very few people on the Arnor side of the Angmar claw and none of them saw the need to visit. The spitted pig story lived on. 

Nag Kath was called into one meeting to explain what he knew of Southron tactics. Most was from the Corporal Hanieru’s description. The Elf had now seen those mountains and his maps were long copied as the standard for armies of the west. He and Inariel finagled a dinner with the Hobbits. Five representatives of the Shire came on their ponies. Among their concerns was; now that Gulf of Lhün was open to mortals, men and Dwarves wanted to use the East-West road to take goods to the port. That contravened the understanding that the Shire was for Hobbits only. Against it was the case that the Hobbits could use it to get their goods to the harbor too, but ships would not come for their cargo alone.

After endless meetings on the subject (and Hobbits can do this for years), a compromise was on the table to make a new road above the Shire. The lay of the land meant cutting across a tip of their homeland. It was not especially good land, but one old farmer refused to sell. When he died, his son was glad to take the coin and they finally had a proposal to bring to the moot.

The Lords seemed to get what they wanted. Dwarves were friendly. People were not quite sure what to make of the Elves. Few had ever seen an Elf before. These two seemed like ordinary folk. They were here to visit the last of their kind in the northern forests. 

King Stelhorn was more than happy to have the Kath’s come home with him. Nag Kath was not forgotten at all. His drawings of the rulers of old were special to His Highness, and would Lord Kath be so kind as to draw him and his Lady Wife Intarciel if he was coming to visit? Anymore there was no reason to take the River Road west of Mirkwood and cross it on the Old Forest Road. A new road veered right in the Brown Lands and stayed to the eastern edge of the great forest until it joined very close to the Dwarf road at Celduin Village. It was still a journey of five hundred miles so when the conference was complete, it was time to get cracking. Sister kissed her brother goodbye and set off on a great adventure.

The King of Dale traveled with twenty four outriders, a secretary/scribe, the most senior counselor who could ride twenty-five miles a day for a month and a junior man who did a number of jobs. Inariel was the only woman. And as one of the beauties of the world, the men had to keep their minds on protecting their Lord. She did not travel with servants and helped with camp chores. The Princess also rode well. 

Around the fire, the Quendu told stories of their land they had never heard before. Some seemed too fantastic to believe. Others confirmed tales they heard as children. What was most interesting was the spur bloodline of Dale through Ardatha. The King knew of her but she was either in the Buhrs or Gondor all of her life. The story of Carstor’s portrait showed how a small thing could change a nation’s course. 

Woodmen were more prevalent on this side of the great forest. Men of Dale had come here to farm well away the brown lands. As the company moved north, it got greener. Nag Kath would have liked to see one of the shape-changers but they were said to be reclusive. Once he sensed being watched by other than cautious men. Perhaps changelings could tell. Hosts of new citizens lined the road to cheer the King of Dale. As planned, the Thain of Nauthauja was at Celduin Village to receive the good news that his lands were now officially expanded to where they had been unofficially for a hundred years.

After three weeks of mostly good weather, the company made Esgaroth. Nag Kath and Inariel said goodbye for a week as the King’s company continued on to Dale. The couple got rooms on the lake facing east and took a few days to rest the horses and tour the sights. Smaug’s tower was somewhat the worse for being made of wood on a lake, but they climbed it just the same and imagined the epic shot. 

The King’s Arrow was still the place to stay for a night. They had a standing invitation at the palace but it was late and pleasant to just arrive and be pampered after sleeping on the ground. Inariel enjoyed the city. It was a little Minas Tirith with different faces. There were Northmen much like the Rohirrim, northern Easterlings with their curious braids and sheepskin caps, fishermen up from the lake, Dwarves by the wagonload and a thriving community of Halflings. They decided to spend another night at the inn and present themselves to His Lordship the next morning. 

One stop they made that afternoon was Golord’s shop. As always, Nag Kath had to prove he was worthy of begging entrance and the royal couple waited on the same stone bench. A more senior longbeard came out after a reasonable amount of time and showed them inside. Master Golord was 267 years young with fully white hair and beard but he rose as always and gave the Elf a hearty two-handed hand-shake saying, “Welcome back, prodigal Elf. I have nothing but good memories of you!”

“Thank you, Master Dwarf. My I present my wife, Princess Inariel?”

He made his version of a mannish bow and shook her hand too. To the lady he said, “I had heard you married this rogue. I hope he has not put you to sleep with his stories.”

“He keeps me up at night with them, Master Dwarf. Thank you for your gracious welcome.”

Tea arrived and they sat to drink it. With forty years to catch-up, Inariel listened patiently and added a few recollections of her own. The orcs were behaving, Frör was not gold-sick but kept Dwarvish business under the mountain. Very little of Nag Kath’s mithril had seen the light of day, not that Golord hadn’t tried to get his hands on some. Nag Kath got on rather well with Prince Rahrbagh at the moot so a trip to Erebor was in the offing. 

It was good to see the Master, now the oldest living person in Nag Kath’s life. He ran his shop as he always had. Golord was a natural bridge between the confusing world of Dale and the orderly Dwarf realm. They mentioned their plans to see Thranduil’s Halls and would be back through to say hello at least once more. The Elf floated that idea in case the canny craftsman had heard anything about those lands. Nothing surfaced.

The Kathen office was in the same place with the same name. The youthful-looking couple opened the door and peered inside. A stout young woman was coming from the back with tea and saw them. They were not scheduled so they must be looking for lodgings. She said, “Good day, sir, ma’am. I have a lovely home in the Featherlight that came available last week.”

The Princess was gracious, “We have accommodations, thank you.”

Nag Kath added, “I was associated with the firm some time back. I wondered if any of Brenen Fal’s family are still involved.”

There would be no commission from these two but she could be helpful, “They still own it, don’t they?”

“Is there family at the 118 or Pine View properties?”

She wondered how he knew that and slowly said, “Could be.”

He mentioned, “We will wander by. My name is Nag Kath and anyone who is interested can leave a message at the Arrow.”

The woman had a sip and said, “I will let them know, sir.”

The next stop was Wallach Grandenar’s, the helpful young relative who organized the party forty-four years ago. He might still be around. He was but had moved when he retired. They visited that house and the elderly man swung the door wide open. He didn’t recognize his Uncle Nag because of aging vision but when Nag Kath said his name the fellow exclaimed, “Why yes! Yes indeed! Please come.”

Wallach showed them to a modest sitting room and fetched his wife. They had more tea, talked about the vast number of children generated by the two families and something of Dale itself. Members of Brenen’s line were now Lords in high-society, one of them a retired Minister of the Purse. Wallach and Shielda were not shareholders but had made a solid living and enjoyed their retirement. In the end, it was good to see someone from the old times and they wished each other well.

Nag Kath was quiet walking back to the inn. Inariel held his arm and said, “I do not suppose there are dance clubs here?”

“No, we will have to hum.”

_______________------______________

King Stelhorn welcomed them warmly. After three weeks on the road, they knew each other well. His father died young so he became heir-apparent in his twenties. Queen Intarciel was of the East Emnet region of Rohan nearest to Dale. They had a girl and a boy with hopes of more. The Queen joined them for luncheon. There were topics that hadn’t surfaced on their journey for a reason. Nag Kath explained the original orc deal, the mithril, the political situation in Rhûn after the war and the state of magic unmentioned on the trail. Hardened troopers only like ghost stories when the ghosts aren't telling them. 

For his part, the King had more details about relations with Erebor. Confidentially, he wondered if Durin’s Folk were fading like the Elves. In the light they were their usual boisterous selves but still had made no quests to reclaim old lands. Nag Kath took a bit of time to explain what little he knew of the seven cursed rings. It seemed likely that they had driven the great age of Dwarvish expansion with the ensuing collapses. Sauron could not bring them to his service, but he knew no good would come from his sorcery.

Queen Intarciel was a pleasant woman nearly as tall as her husband with the broad shoulders of the plains. Like most Rohirrim, she could barely read. She made up for that by being sharp as a tack and seeing to the heart of matters. Inariel was the first Princess to visit here since a state visit from Rohan for their marriage. The Quenda put her at ease admiring ‘upstairs’. They agreed to stay another week and Nag Kath would draw them tomorrow. 

By prior arrangement, the Princess stayed in the palace while her husband strolled the healer’s district. No matter the city, healers were never in new buildings. He wandered into most of them getting a few herbs not available in the south and generally acting the Gondoran tourist. 

In the second to the last shop, he found a thin woman and asked if she could pull a mild infection.

“Usually, depends on what else you have tried. Let me have a look.”

He admitted, “My question was just for general knowledge. I try to keep track of these things.”

Inductive healers had not been in favor when the Easterlings were intriguing but this generation was not so bashful. She looked at him and blurted, “You’re the Elf, right?”

“One of them.”

“One of one. You’re a legend. And no, I can’t put anything in, just take it out. What brings you by?”

He sat on a stool and answered, “Like I said, I keep track. You ladies are hard to find among free-peoples. I know a healer in Minas Tirith who gave a drunk his hangover back. There is an actual sorceress there too, but she is retired. Some of the bad ‘uns died in the surge.”

“Remember that, like I was gut-punched. I was just a kid.”

“That was it. The last of Sauron’s tools. I’d like a silver’s worth of herbs. While you are getting them, do you mind telling me if any girls have been born since then with the gift?”

She stared at the silver on the counter for a while and would get herbs later. “Not that I’ve heard. That was you got ate by wargs?”

“They were saving me for later.”

“Just curious. My cousin married one of the Kathen boys, Grevault?”

Nag Kath admitted, “Then she knows them better than me.” 

“To your question; no, haven’t heard of any. There was tell of a woman in the Buhrs long ago. Never came here.”

“That is my old stomping grounds. Did some of my best work there.”

The woman stared at the silver again and asked, “What did you need for that?”

He gave her three names only found here, about twenty groats worth if you took a handful. That seemed a fair deal to him and he thanked her before wandering towards his first house. Two small children were playing in the yard. As he looked at the home, they looked at him. A lass of about ten demanded, “What do you want mister?”

“Just looking. I used to live here.”

She gave him a stare and followed with, “Da said the roof needs repair.”

“Forgive me, young lady. This was a long time ago. I am just visiting friends now.”

The older girl wasn’t sure about this and said, “Maybe you should come in and look at the roof just the same.”

“If you insist.”

He trooped in with the girls to the consternation of their mother. She put her arms akimbo and would know; “Who are you?”

“I am Nag Kath and your daughters wanted me to look at a leaky roof.”

She relaxed a little, “About time. Are you with the landlord?”

“No, I was just wandering by and was told by your young ladies that I needed to do something. I used to own this place but that was a long time ago. In fact, I think I had this same roof put on when I lived here.”

Mother became concerned again and said, “This roof is a hundred years old.”

The Elf walked around looking at the large beams and said, “One hundred and thirty. Cost me dear, it did.”

“Then I thank you for looking and I will speak to my daughters about bringing strangers into our home.”

He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard a word she said and asked, “Do you have a long pole or rope?”

“See here, mister. I think you should go.”

Still looking up he said, “There may be money on the beam just over the window. Brenen used to leave a coin hidden against an emergency. If no one has been up there since then, it is worth a look.” He could have just pulled himself up there with sorcery but that might not soothe nerves.

Now she was in the cleft stick. A woman and two girls with a stranger full of nonsense in their home was balanced against the possibility of cash. It seemed absurd so she split things down the middle and decreed, “All right. You look. Then you leave or I call the guardi.”

He looked up again and repeated, “Stick or rope?”

She managed a coil of clothesline. He tied a stone from the garden around the end and threw it at the beam. It took three tries but when it was over, he pulled either end back and forth like a boot-shine as he dragged it towards the wall. A foot from the end, the rope caught something that fell to the floor with a clunk. It was a Numenorean nipper. The younger girl grabbed it on the bounce to keep her sister from getting it. Mother walked over and demanded to see what she had. Her mouth dropped. Was the blonde man a spirit? More importantly, had he come to claim the coin? He solved that by saying, “Check the beam over the door too. You never know. Are there still Hobbits down the block?”

She nodded with her mouth still open and he bid them a lovely morning. There were Hobbits enjoying their little yards with pipes and tea. He said hello but did not stop. Upstairs, the palace guards let him in on sight.

Picture drawing went well. The children were attractive and well behaved. In wondering where to put the two they would display, Queen Intarciel asked about his other works. “Lord Kath, there is this picture of the lake. Can you tell us about it?”

Nag Kath was a little surprised that story had not stuck. The King walked over too. The Elf answered, “Your Highnesses, that is the view from the tower on the lake where your kin shot Smaug. I have it on good authority that the beast had circled and was returning for another attack when Bard put the arrow in his heart.”

Inariel added, “We climbed it just a week ago.”

The man was speechless for a long moment. He looked at the Kaths and his lovely Queen before saying softly, “I had no notion. Has it been so long that the Kings of Dale have forgotten?”

Nag Kath answered just as softly, “I took my grandson up there when he was a young man ... the spitting image of his grandfather Brand, he was. We imagined the shot just like every boy with a bow has ever done in your realm; the last chance to get it right.”

King Stelhorn exhaled, “I have never climbed it, not once." He called over to his children and said, “Grath, Fanni, that is where your grand-da of old killed the dragon.”

Seven year-old Bengrathan announced regally, “I will do the same, Father King.”

Inariel offered a little royal advice, “My Lord, the tower is a bit the worse for time. Please be careful if you take the Prince.” The adults could see in the King’s eyes that the landmark would be restored starting tomorrow. What a superb way to remind his family and the softening gentry of Dale that sometimes a price is asked for what they enjoy.

______________-------_____________

Two days later they were on their way to the Elven Halls around a turn that only an Elf would find. Nag Kath knew it well. They rode slowly and quietly through the dappled sunlight filtering among pines and leafy trees by the Forest River. It took an hour to reach the turn and they made sure their horses were loud. Two sets of Elf ears listened for others.

About where expected, two ohtars walked onto the path and one raised his palm. In Westron he proclaimed, “Men are not allowed here. You are in the Elven realm and must turn back.”

Nag Kath said in Sindarin, “Your pardon. We are not men and wish to visit our kin. I am Nag Kath and am known to Fearnold if he is still here.”

What he said did not matter that much. Nag Kath looked mostly Elf but he had made his life looking like a man. The Quenda was another matter. One glance at her and they knew she was very much of their kind. 

The soldier who raised his hand said, “We will take you. Please dismount.”

They walked past the noisy falls flowing from the bluff where the hall stood. One of the ohtars stayed with them as they tied their horses to a stone post while the other went inside for the steward. He emerged a quarter-bell later and walked down the steps to receive them. All three bowed and he said, “Nag Kath, welcome back. I am Peransöe. We spoke at your last visit.”

“Forgive my forgetfulness, Peransöe. This is my wife Inariel.”

The Elf wracked his memory before saying, “I do not remember you, Lady. Welcome. Are you new to these Halls?”

“I am, good sir. I have always been of the south.”

The Steward said, “Please, Fearnold knows you are here and looks forward to seeing you.”

Inariel marveled at the place. How could those columns possibly be so tall?! It was little changed since Nag Kath’s first unintended visit. Elves coming to and fro were dressed less ornately than in the Elvenking’s day. They looked at their kin in mannish garb without staring.

Fearnold was sitting at his same long table with two other Elves when the couple was presented. Nag Kath had told her these were not formal Elves so be respectful, but not fawning. Her blood was of those gone so they might be cautious at first. The others left as the leader walked around the table to exchange equal bows and said, “It has been some time, Nag Kath.”

Fifty years, if I remember correctly. Sir, this is my wife, Inariel.”

Leader Fearnold said, “We have heard of you, young lady. Welcome to the Woodland realm.”

She said, “Thank you for your hospitality, sir. I am honored.”

“Please, sit. Have you eaten?”

She replied, “Not since porridge.” Elves eat twice a day so that wasn’t longer than anyone else. 

Logass was right; they were aging. Fearnold always looked about thirty. That was more like thirty-five now. He, and everyone else they saw, were fit and moved gracefully. The difference was the understanding of time. It had begun to matter. In the years of men it was lifetimes. By theirs; it must seem very fast.

They talked quite a bit about the rest of the world. So, another Ñoldorin stone was found! Woodland Elves still had dealings with men trading goods and materials. Fearnold knew Nag Kath had useful tidings and did not mind sharing his. The Southrons were rebuilding. The Witch-stone was destroyed. They felt that. The Elves already knew about the mithril circle and that it was melted in exchange for some of Thranduil’s gems.

Nag Kath asked, “There wasn’t time for chat but was the necklace his?”

Fearnold smiled, something these Elves still did. “He would have said so. We chide the Dwarves we see in good humor, but our kind has their obsessions too. His were the stones. Thranduil got quite a few back but I have it on faith that the Dwarves kept some of the best. You did not take the box. I commend you for that. There is always more to take than one should grasp.”

That was high praise from an ancient soul. Nag Kath appreciated it and said, “Yes, the world has many who only take. I used some of the diamonds to build a retreat in the old enemy lands for people to heal and count their blessings.” Replacing the Palantir with the rat-diamond was inspired.

The leader nodded that he hoped these halls offered the same. Then he said, “Lady Inariel, your arrival was unseen. Do you come with your husband to see the old things?”

She replied, “It was time to understand myself better. I have only been an Elf these eight years. Like my husband, I did not start this way.”

Fearnold recalled, “I remember your great grandmother when she was of the north. You look quite different but have her eyes. I think you favor your grandfather more.”

She giggled, not an Elvish reaction, and responded, “I never met any of them. In mannish and Elvish count, I am but forty-nine.”

Addressing his statement to her he said, “You are welcome to stay as long as you like. I am sure Nag Kath told you that we offer nourishment and shelter in exchange for honest labor.”

“He has, sir. I will do my best.”

_____________------___________

Inariel had not told Nag Kath how long she wanted to stay. She did not know and had gotten used to immortality enough to understand he did not care. If they were here a week or two years, it was all the same to him. They would miss family in the south but knew their lives only intersected.

Nag Kath liked physical labor in the morning and was instantly appointed assistant archivist in the thin library late in the day. Inariel purposely chose to work primarily with women gardening and weaving. Everyone spoke at least enough Sindarin to be conversant. Both Kaths started learning a bit of Silvan which had been nearly a dead-tongue for thousands of years. She had the advantage of growing up with her mother and knowing that silence was not awkward among the Firstborn. They showed her craft that would have given her fishwife's hands if they did not repair themselves so quickly.

The Kaths were given modest quarters near where the artist Denethiur had lived. After intimacy one night, they lay together wondering about Logass’ other prediction that there would be no more births. They were rare during Nag Kath’s first visit, but rare was more than none. Inariel considered if these beautiful people joined like they just had for no other reason than pleasure with the one you love. Perhaps Elf hearing would inspire passion. 

Most meals among the Silvans were communal. Food was prepared in quantity. Folk could eat it at the tables or take it to their quarters. The Kaths almost always sat with others. It took two weeks for real conversations. He was his usual self but residents were a bit intimidated that she was of the highest royalty in Elvendom – Middle-earth Elvendom. Her rank among men mattered as well. The lady was happy to do the same chores as everyone else so she was one of them. Sometimes the couple ate apart to make them more approachable individually. Later that week they had the evening meal with another couple who was fascinated with life outside their borders. It was on the tip of Inariel’s tongue to ask why they didn’t just vacation in Dale for a month. 

The Elven Halls had two artists. It was not a court position like in the Third Age. Both women used their spare time to draw or paint the things around them – entirely self-taught, but inspired and worth keeping. Nag Kath joined them one evening before the sun set. They were astounded that one could add perspective and shading the way he did. He had thought little of it since it came naturally after Quastille showed him the rudiments. On a whim, he walked Inariel to the throne room to see if his waterfall picture had surfaced. It hadn’t.

Inariel paid special attention to wakeful rest. Her husband was a poor example but she was the only one who still slept. Her ability to submerge unwanted thoughts improved. There was less to think about. Maybe that was how they did it. Nag Kath still held her while she rested and made her feel a part of him. Half of her was him. 

The couple settled-in. Weeks became months. Time passed very quickly as winter was on them. Warm clothes were provided. One of the blessings of Elves was that they don’t wear through clothes fast, or even get them very dirty. The Kaths were about the right size. Silvan (Nandorin) Elves were a bit shorter than the Ñoldorin or Teleri. Her mother had an assortment of Silmaril-age bloods but they had no idea where Nag Kath’s ancestors hailed-from. Inariel was about the average height here. Like Phylless, she was taller than most women but shorter than Tal, Eniece and, especially, Florice. Nag Kath was the tallest Elf here, but not by much. 

As they got more comfortable, Fearnold shared more. He let it be known that the Kaths could be trusted, but that is not the same as broaching any subject. The leader thought there might be two thousand of his people. The estimate was rough because some Elves had completely independent communities in the forest, including another five hundred who came with Gilfandros from Lorien and made their home about twenty leagues further west. They saw each other as friends. Nag Kath asked about the effect Radagast might have had. The wizard was at the other end of the huge forest but that made him much closer than many other forests. Fearnold did not see the change. The little wizard’s healing may have been directed at Dol Guldor below him. None had seen an Ent since before the war.

At three months, folk finally started talking about not sailing west. There was finality, but not sadness. The secretive Nandorin Elves still did not want to live under the same social restrictions as in the Third Age. But there were folk of other lines here who made a conscious decision to stay because this was their home and there were worse fates than living an entire life where you loved. They said they could feel the taking. It was not like aging in the way of men. They did not get sick. Injuries still repaired themselves, even if slightly slower. Nag Kath helped set a broken arm the month before and it was fine in a week.

Quenda alone with Inariel were more forthright. None had been fertile in sixty years, even women merely a thousand years old. The Princess got the tiniest hint that her nocturnal pleasures had been noticed. Ladies were intensely curious how that was possible but could not bring themselves to ask. When asked about Valinor, Inariel told them she had not felt the pull to the west yet. At only eight years an Elf, it might simply be too soon. Her mother never talked to her about it, but she had chosen mortality and relinquished Aman’s claims. Inariel did not mention her transition to this life was a result of sorcery with black origins. Nag Kath’s unconventional mix of life force was not common knowledge and it could stay that way.

Nag Kath’s manly conversations were not as intimate. There were three Elves of Legolas’ Emyn Vierald community who chose to stay. They had journeyed first to Lorien and then here when Lorien was abandoned. He did not remember them. They certainly would have remembered him. Legolas understood the healing need of fresh water but never liked the Dwarvish water pipe from the mountains. The three knew the stranger was more than just a stray Quendu. 

The couple stayed until mid-April. Inariel felt she knew herself better, just as her husband had in eastern healing after being reborn. Like ladies anywhere, the Quendi of the Woodland realm baked them a going-away treat, in this case, a sizeable batch of genuine Lembas bread from the Lorien recipe. Against all his whining against making it in penance, he spent a day in the kitchen watching closely. That might come in handy. 

One Quenda who was friend to Inariel approached Nag Kath privately. “Master Elf … I want you to know that your wife will eventually feel the draw to the Undying Lands. She cannot escape her fate by being late. It is not terrible, but she will have to decide just as we have.” The Quenda wet her lips, “If you leave and find a way to the Straight Road, please tell our folk on the other side that we will see them one day in the Halls of Mandos.”

He kissed her on the forehead and said he would try.

______________------_____________

Dale is pretty in the spring. They stayed at the Arrow this time. As promised, Nag Kath and Inariel visited Master Golord again. He was glad to see them. Prince Rahrbagh was long returned from the Glittering Caves. If the couple would like to visit Erebor, he would be delighted to welcome them on behalf of the King. That seemed like a splendid idea so a note was sent by one of the daily carriers and they got a reply three days later that that two days hence was satisfactory.

New to Elvendom, Inariel was not squeamish about caves. She drank in every line of the massive Dwarf city. Nag Kath was sorry to learn that Tombor had died a few years back but he was nearly three hundred and had done well with his chances. Prince Rahrbagh welcomed them and showed the Princess sights Nag Kath had never seen before. He was a changeling Elf but she was the daughter of the Elessar. Her father’s line mattered a great deal here.

That evening they had dinner with King Frör. He was as lordly as the great Dwarvish Kings of old and spoke to the couple with a glint in his eye. For the occasion, Inariel wore the circlet Milli gave her from Arwen’s things and a necklace with the Traybor stone received from Nag Kath. She had worn neither in the Elven realm. The conversation was mostly about old deeds favorably remembered. The King raised no new issues about the direction of his peoples so the Kath’s didn’t either. They spent the night and were back in Dale by lunch.

It was time to go. They nosed their horses back down the Celduin but then took the Forest Road across Mirkwood. Merchant traffic was strong and the road was no wider so they took their time. The water had been clean for three lives of men. Nag Kath still checked the streams. He was tempted to find Radagast’s home but decided that chapter was closed. From there it was down the Anduin to Lorien. It rained a lot. They had their slickers and Elves are tough, but not so tough that they didn’t spend a night at the nice inn positioned on the Celebrant for a dinner and evening of snuggling, as she called it. They didn’t get an early start either.

Powerful wards against men remained, probably Galadriel’s doing. It was late afternoon when they turned the bend into Caras Galadhon and beheld the Mallorns that looked like thunderclouds with the rain as their trunks. Nag Kath unsaddled the horses and let them graze while Inariel explored the flets in other trees.

She found what must have been a lordly platform two trees deep from the opening. They nibbled their Lembas and watched the stars. There is no silence in a forest. Squirrels scamper. Branches break. Water flows. Her changeling sat holding her in front of him in wakeful rest. 

He surprised both of them. “Orc Six. Welcome back. You have a friend.”

“Hello Mr. Logass. Thank you. This is my wife, Inariel Telcontar.”

The gnome walked to a few feet away and said, “Yes, yes I see it.”

She answered, “Good day, Mr. Logass. Thank you for having us.”

The gnome growled, “Hughmmmph, you are welcome. Will you be staying long, Orc Six?”

“A few days at least. Inariel is new to this life and wanted to take in Elvish places. We are also here in respect to her mother.”

Logass chewed on that for a moment and wondered, “Are you here to see her grave?”

Inariel had been gazing in the distance but she snapped her head like a hooked trout, “Do you know where it is?”

“Certainly, we buried her. She rests on a hill about twenty miles from here. Cerin Amroth it is called, near King Amroth’s house.”

She gasped, “Can we go?”

“Hughmmm, yes. I could take you, but it will be faster on your horses. I do not ride horses. Keeper Ohdouth and I were here when she came. We spoke to her but she asked us to let her be. There is a small stone on the mound. It is unmarked. You can tell.”

Nag Kath said, “Forgive my manners. May I inquire after the estimable Mrs. Logass?”

“Same as ever. She assists me in my labors. It will take you a day to get there. The path is overgrown but it is the only one. Take care and we will watch for your return.”

Inariel neither slept nor rested that night. She wanted to go but did not want to see what she would find. Her mind ran back in time. Milli was daddy's girl. Inara was her mother's, so close, so very close to the Eldar. Arwen saw her people in the beautiful child. She raised her as much like an Elf as she could. She could not have known that Inariel was already on the path to half-Elven, but that getting there would kill her first. The Queen ran out of time. Her eyes had lost their light when she kissed her children goodbye. 

The keepers had done the Evenstar an honorable service. She rested under a small mound, now grown over in grass but for the rock placed in the middle. Inariel knelt beside it and started softly crying. Nag Kath was not needed now, but he soon would be as never before. Inariel stayed two bells, holding her hands and wiping her cheeks with her sleeves. After the sun was down she returned to the little clearing where the great King Amroth’s home stood thousands of years ago and sat in the grass by their bedrolls. He walked behind her and sat with his legs to either side of her, holding his Princess like he had the night before. She was absolutely still. She needed this. A little piece of her heart had been restored, first in pain, then in understanding. 

Later in the evening, her husband fetched Lembas and fresh water from the stream before sitting behind her again. She sipped the water. When the sun rose, Inariel asked in a tiny voice, “Must it be this way?”

“Pain is the price of love. Love is always worth it, thought it breaks our hearts. I have buried everyone I ever loved. I cried for them too. But I will do it again because without love, we fall into darkness.” He kissed her cheek and whispered, “You are stronger now. You fell into grief like your mother and now you are reborn. This is the chance she did not have. Treasure it, honor her and be happy with me.”

She walked up to the mound and put her hand on the grass for a moment. Nag Kath saddled the horses. 

They were back in Caras Galadhon in the late afternoon and camped back on their little Flet. Mr. and Mrs. Logass walked underneath. She said heartily, “Hello, orc six. I have baked fish.”

He looked at his wife to be sure she was ready. She nodded and he called down, “Thank you, Mrs. Logass. This is Inariel. We will be there presently.”

At the flet used by the keepers, Inariel was reminded of Mr. and Mrs. Fencïl. Logass seemed much the same. They were homely little creatures with those beaky noses and curious legs, but their hearts were true. She asked him more about her mother’s decision. He only knew what he had already explained to Nag Kath but hearing it first-hand made a difference. Before story time, Nag Kath told the Keepers of their stay in the north, confirming Logass’ contention that the Elves were diminishing. He asked, “When they are gone, where will you go?”

“Hughmmmf. We will be called away.”

Inariel asked, “Will you need to take a ship?”

The missus answered, “Oh no, child. We are where we are needed. Now we are here. Later we will be somewhere else. It is not so confusing.”

The Princess thought that was very queer, but if it made sense to the gnomes, that was all that mattered. Perhaps they were a form of Maiar who the Valar could move by thought. Nag Kath asked what seemed like a related question but addressed Arwen’s difficulty and possibly Inariel’s if she was called, “Will you return to Valinor, Mrs. Logass?”

They couple looked at each other and he said, “I don’t remember ever being there. We go where Elves have left and, by all accounts, there are plenty there now.”

Whatever happened, they would not need a ship. Nag Kath was suddenly struck with the question; was Aragorn really asking about him returning to the sea on behalf of his younger daughter? Just how long had they seen their girl as near to immortal? For story-time, Nag Kath told a romantic tale of kissing a beautiful Princess awake and falling in love with her. The gnomes agreed that was one for the ages and Logass would use it in his repertoire when other keepers gathered.

Mrs. Logass was entranced by the lovely Quenda. She had only met a few since the males were the last left when they arrived in stewardship. Not a bashful gnome, she asked, “You are great-grand-daughter to the evening star?”

“Mother told me so, but, it is so confusing. Eärendil was honored and yet he sails the sky endlessly. Perhaps my sense of time is too mannish, but that seems a drudge.”

Nag Kath had heard bits and pieces of the legend but, like his wife, it seemed too fantastic a myth for such a prosaic ending. Still, that star, of all the stars he had seen, including southern stars below the men of Middle-earth, all turned round the earth at the same rate. The Evenstar alone was different.

This was Logass’ turn as oldest and wisest of the four, “Time is not measured the same for all. Young people like you measure days in days – each with a sunrise and darkness. Time for the Valar and Great Elves is compressed. They rise to occasions but are oftentimes very still. Your great-grandfather is the light but also a weapon held in abeyance against the last battle with Morgoth, said to be long from now.”

The ever-practical orc wondered, “Does he eat and sleep?”

The Keeper almost chuckled, “I cannot say. I get this third-hand. But he cannot be fully flesh and ply the night of bitter cold. Until the fight, he remains poised for service.” 

Before they retired, Nag Kath took out a sample of the troll papers that Fencïl thought might be of the Valar. Logass had a hard look and said, “Before my time. Hughmmmph, before anyone’s time. It was said the Valar created a language to speak to themselves when in their physical Fana (form). They tried teaching it to the Elves, but the Elves found the sounds displeasing so the Valar used Elvish tongues ... and you know what a fright they are!”

In the morning, Inariel was more herself. Her mother was properly mourned and remembered. She would tell brother and sister to put their minds at ease. Now it was time for Nag Kath’s next adventure. He took a swaddling rag from his saddlebag and a handful of clay from the creek-bank before following a rivulet into a gully. Then he started tearing vines away from a very old stone base revealing a tarnished bowl on the top. Access secured, the Elf put the clay in the bowl and poured water on top before rubbing the surface with the rags.

Inariel watched patiently but was not sure what this was about until he stepped away to get more water. It was the mirror! Her husband wiped the surface with the back side of the rags and filled it about half full. Satisfied, he held the edges with both hands. Power seeped into his arms but the reflection would not speak to him. Turning away he looked at her and said, “It was your great granna’s.”

She had imagined this since she was ten. Inariel bound her hair in a ponytail and bent over to look straight down into her reflection without touching the basin. Nag Kath knew it would only seem a moment but she was there fully two minutes completely motionless. Whatever she saw had an effect. The Princess stepped away and started walking up the path to the flet. Her Elf collected the trash and followed. He did not ask what she saw. She did not say. She was Elfkind and Elves have secrets. 

__________--------__________

They were gone exactly a year. Inariel was different, more confident, more comfortable in what she was becoming. They returned to the palace first to see her family. Learning of Arwen was bittersweet but both Milli and Eldarion were glad she was at rest. They saw the Conaths over the next week. 

After so much travel, they would spend the rest of the year in Minas Tirith and look to Belfalas in the spring. Fieldar Conath was now a grandfather twice over and pleased as he could be. Nag Kath presented a proclamation from King Stelhorn wishing Shurran’s line all his best. There was another for Eniecia’s brood on the coast. The youngsters though it was very special to be related to a King. It all came from imagining Smaug closing on the tower. Everyone greeted, the Kaths made for Emyn Arnen to see the bookworms.

Little had changed in Harad. The Hûks had the eastern rivers, Umbar clients controlled the west, Harondor was still not worth invading and Gondor would not be caught off-guard. Righters whispered in the Elf’s ear that Khand took the same view on their side of the world. Nag Kath spent one militia training week teaching slow-swords. 

They intended to spend about half of their time on the seventh and half at his house but his house saw more of it. There was not a lot to do on the seventh or the sixth levels unless you worked there. They saw Chievon and Ro-Jardïn at a restaurant and had them join their table. She was much more alive. Both Nag Kath and Inariel thought despite all her looks, she was like other women they had known whose husbands had never considered their desires until now. The Elf and marine talked old times and took a sip after remembering Telgrin and Pearsall. 

The Elf never got around to taking his failed Elvish language papers to the scholars. This generation of well-heeled experts embraced the discovery of the Black Numenoreans and argued over texts coming up the coast, replacing the old halfers who replaced those seeking the Nuralth. He studied there sometimes but did not give them anything to fight over. 

Kathlie, who named Orlon ‘Daisy’, was a big girl and married her childhood sweetheart in October. Uncle Nag was good for another generation of diamond earrings. He found it easier to give them all at the same time. Haldor had his Syndolan party and before you knew it, it was 137. 

Light snows that winter would make going downriver easy whenever they chose so they chose the first part of April. Nag Kath presented the Dalish King’s proclamation to his relatives in Dol Amroth to great acclaim. Inariel renewed a few acquaintances and used her Sindarin from the Woodland realm conversationally. There were still pockets in the city that spoke it as their preferred tongue. They enjoyed themselves, saw the next generation take shape and gave Raniece her sister’s best. The Kaths even caught a few Catanards in the Ivandred boxes and one in the Prince’s box. Nag Kath was secretly relieved that none of the next generations here or in Minas Tirith was elderly. When the next group got old that would be continuous owing to the range of ages but the oldest was Ranice, only in her mid-sixties and quite healthy.

Alas Forten was pretty, as always. A fire consumed about a third of the town. Patron Kath funded the restoration. The Coloma trees produced a bushel of fruit that did not last the day since everyone was invited to enjoy. The other crops ranged from excellent to a complete loss of the peaches because of a rare freeze in the spring. Nag Kath had a special place in his heart for peaches. A'mash seemed happy with oats.

He trained with the militia this year. It was not the shambles it had been although two farmers picked a fight over a long-disputed boundary. Sarn’t Brittanal was getting up there in years but he gave the pair latrine duty for the balance of training. He was still a soldier and they would be as well! After-hours, Nag Kath taught slow-swords and youth archery. 

In the pretty autumn they decided to visit little Inara in Nargond. The mineral springs in Zevalth were relaxing and they made the farm in the mid-afternoon. Delthander and Beksa saw them ride up and walked out to investigate, recognizing them after the couple dismounted. Everyone knew a high Elf had married a royal Princess in the lordly parts of the realm but they had not made the jump to Nag and Inara. The Kath’s were prepared for either contingency.

Beksa had filled-out but Delthandir was spare as ever. Inara was their only child and she ran in a few minutes later from her chores. Miss Enedith was still the cook/housekeeper. Pati had been quickly courted by a more honest young fellow and had a family of her own. 

Inara showed visiting Nag and Auntie Inara that she would count and read from the modest collection of children’s books that made their way from the scribes of Osgiliath. After dinner, she read to them by candlelight and the blonde healer told a story about great deeds in the north. The child was ten and tall, like her father. She looked like her parents too with no distinctive Telcontar features.

Since they had forgotten his last name, he didn’t mention it. Uncle Nag was good enough. Inara said they continued to travel and while they were close, wanted to stop by to see the lass. The girl beamed that anyone would want to see her and asked the pretty lady to explain a few words in her books no one in the family knew.


	2. The Message

**_Chapter 2_ **

**_The Message_ **

Gervaith Bathralas died in the spring of 139. Milli was quiet but not despondent. It was expected. That did not mean easy. Inariel wanted to stay with her that summer. Understandably, the girls did not have many true friends growing up. They became much closer when Inariel met Nag Kath and was here again. Milli needed that now.

The threat in the south had stabilized. Occasional refugees escaped but the new lords weren’t much worse than the old. Ro and Chievon married intending to visit Lhûg, perhaps stay. Being dishonestly taken from her family left scars. She suspected growing up, and from Nag Kath more recently, that the retreats might heal. Nag Kath advised them to join a caravan using the same route he took on the Rhûn side of the Ash Mountains. That was safe generally and safer still with a tough marine whose wife could cast fire. The Elf was glad for her as he had been for her grandfather Chûr in his time.

In November they took the ship to Sarlond and stayed a few weeks before making for Alas Forten. The estate called Inariel back for tranquility. Winter was mild and soon gave way to the riot of pinks and yellows as bees circled the blossoms. This year they didn’t travel to Dol Amroth, inviting the Ivandred clan out to stay. A number of them were the right age for the easy journey, even if they had to hire horses. From May until October, they often entertained folk from the city with country life. Milli came with her son for several weeks after a state visit to Dol Amroth. When the spring of FO. 141 bloomed, it was the longest they had stayed in any one place since they met.

After planting, Nag Kath and Inariel returned to Dol Amroth to spend the summer. The mood was different. Family guests had mentioned that too. Disaffected men were anxious for change. A poet was banished from the city for sedition after penning a play calling for the Prince to abdicate. Little symbols of their cause, which looked nothing like Fûl, were inked or posted to gain attention. 

The Elves had other concerns. Inariel fell ill shortly after they arrived. It seemed a mild fever, but Elves shouldn’t get fevers. He examined her gently. In a person he would have called it exhaustion or lack of water. 

The color test was the key. He could not be sure but he thought she was feeling the draw of Valinor, and more intensely than those who had always been Elves. Nag Kath infused her with his own life spirit, a small version of her transformation, and it made her whole within two days. It took him just as long to recover. 

When they were strong, she walked out to the main room in just her nightclothes and socks with tea and sat with him on the couch. “That was a message.”

“I think so too. It was coming, I just did not know when or how. Are you fine now?”

“All better. It felt like an ague.”

He considered his feet on the table and said, “It will come again.”

She agreed in a small voice, “It will.”

“We should prepare to go west.”

Inariel put her tea on the table and asked, “Is that wise? I do not remember you being esteemed by the Elves who left, never mind the ones already there.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, “I have not packed my bag. We must consider the possibilities. I think we should spend the autumn in Minas Tirith. Before then, we will do a little sailing.” 

They saw the second Catanard and enjoyed a city that relishes its summers despite tensions building in the city. More people were arrested. There were assaults. Conjecture was that there were high people involved who wanted to get higher. A merchant patriarch was implicated. The fourth Catanard, was to be performed in the afternoon. That was the showcase for the season and usually brought the Prince and his family. Guardi were more obvious. It was Nag Kath and Inariel’s turn in their family rotation and a comedy so they went. She felt fine. Menalgar and his wife Octonal brought their son and daughter to fill the first box with a like assortment in the second. This was the most conservative audience in Dol Amroth. Rabble-rousers would not have many supporters here. The first act went fine.

As Prince Armandor and his family filed in from a room set apart for them during intermission, his lead guard was tripped. Three men ran up where space had been cleared for the Prince’s return shouting; “New Men Ascend!” while pulling short swords from their jackets.

The assailants had a clean run of ten paces directly at the Prince. Just before they reached striking distance, a silver blur swept past his Highness. It was ‘the fast’, but not so fast that the audience didn’t see the specter inside. The lead man’s body collapsed but his head rolled up against the Prince’s feet. A second man's torso was cleaved from collarbone to stomach and the third caught an elbow in the mouth. Nag Kath remembered blood suspended in air like dandelion fluff. The tripped guard scrambled to his feet and the rear guard ran up in front of the Prince within moments. The accomplice who tripped him got away in the panic.

The sorcerer yanked the Prince’s sword out of the second man in real-time and stood above the unconscious assailant to see if he was alive. Guardi flooded into the seating area. The Catanard Sayer told those who had not already run screaming to calmly return home. Prince Armandor stood stock still, staring at the head against his boot. Then he looked at Nag Kath before allowing his men to escort him, his wife and several grandchildren back to the safety of the citadel.

The Elf handed the sword to a guard and walked to Inariel. She was shocked but her new Elf instincts held her steady. The Ivandreds in both boxes had whistles for contingencies. This one was to meet at Raniece’s house. Raniece and Borond’s steward answered the door and let the white-faced family inside. Hortencia was in the middle of the pack and all business, “Granna, there was trouble at the opera.” Inariel sat but Nag Kath remained standing, paying no attention to the blood spatters on his clothes and hands. He had done this before.

Menalgar’s son Menalthorn was deputized to tell the tale. It did not take long. All eyes went to Uncle Nag who seemed lost in his own thoughts. When he realized he was the attraction, he asked, “Who were they?”

Menalthorn glanced at his father and answered, “With that call before the attack, New Men ... agitators.”

Nag Kath looked at the faces, “Was anyone hurt?” Siorscia’s daughter Heiri had not stopped crying the whole way here. Two others were stunned to silence but there were no physical injuries. With everyone fine, the Elf continued, “Raniece, Borond, please watch Inariel for me, else she settles these New Men.” Inara nodded. The Princess of Gondor knew she was a target.

He added, “I will make my way to the citadel and answer questions there. I expect a few.” 

With that, he kissed his wife and made his way up the hill.

________________-------_______________

It took a few confusion-spells to reach the palace but he arrived quickly and said he was here to assist his Highness. Then he sat on a bench and wiped his hands on his trousers. The Prince’s head of security stormed out of the main hall. He might have just lost his job. His deputy noticed the Elf and said, “Lord Kath? A moment, sir.”

Prince Armandor was talking to his men in his bloody boots. He was angry, not scared. When he saw the sorcerer, he knew he would get answers his lot hadn’t given. “Lord Kath, I am in your debt. Can you tell me what you know of this foul attack?”

The Elf bowed and answered, “Probably not much more than you sir. I saw the three come at you and pulled your sword for the two in front.”

The Prince asked, “That is your sorcery?”

“One of them, sir.”

The mortals in the room were stunned at the magic. Valantir of the Palace Spearmen, standing next to the guard who had been tripped, asked on behalf of his Lord, “Sir, did you see someone attack this man?”

It might be to catch the accomplice or be sure the guard hadn’t been involved. Nag Kath could not help him, “I am sorry, my gaze was between the Prince and the stage. I will tell you this for nothing …” he gathered his thoughts; “… a man walking in front of My Lord’s family was not watching them or looking for a seat. He was making sure no else approached from where the attackers emerged ... gray jacket, dark blonde beard." When no one said he was one of theirs, the Elf added, "They had more friends than we have yet counted.”

Prince Armandor looked at his boot again before sitting at the conference table saying, “Everyone, take a seat. What happened to the man with no teeth?” 

A guardi reported, “He is in a cell one level below, sir, out cold. His hands and feet are bound so he cannot kill himself before we make inquiries.”

For half a bell they debated why someone would attack the Prince at such an event. It was messy and complicated with a crowd in the way and little time. Were they hoping to make a statement in front of the higher orders? The Captain of the Palace Guards asked, “Lord Kath, you have been silent this whole time. Why would someone try to assassinate His Highness in such a fashion?”

Without looking up, the Elf said, “They didn’t, or the tripper would have done it. Killing him would not be enough. Whoever arranged this was sending a message. Watch for the man who makes himself indispensable.” Only then did he look to reactions around the table.

Everyone seemed stunned except the Prince who asked, “Lord Kath; is your Lady Wife safe?”

“She is, sir.”

“Then comfort her and thank you again for whatever you did. I expect we will be in touch directly.”

On the way downhill Nag Kath realized his idyllic years in Dol Amroth were over. Other than healing, all of his other magic here had been discreet. In this city more than anywhere else in the world, he was just Uncle Nag. The entire audience saw him mow-down the New Men. Everyone assumed the heroic Elf had seen the danger to the Prince and sprang to the rescue. Nag Kath would have told them that the only one between the assassins and Inariel of Gondor was the elderly Prince. No one asked so he didn’t say. New Men would be riled, never realizing their fellows were martyrs. Inariel would be the perfect way to settle the score. The Prince had dirty work ahead of him.

The Elf walked to the Quay and doubled-back to his house from the far side to collect his sword and change shirts. Not hearing any lurkers he knocked next door on Callistriana’s window to tell them what happened. They already knew. Everyone in the city knew. He told them to lock their door and warded it before returning to Raniece’s where most of the family was still sitting in the main room trying to understand. All conversation stopped when he entered. Inariel wetted a washcloth from the kitchen and tried to rub the gore off her husband’s face. He took it like a man. Heiri started crying again. Menalthorn got the Elf a goblet of pale wine. They weren’t talking much but did not want to leave either. Nag Kath felt the same way, slumping next to his wife. 

At Caladrion’s burial the family saw emotions. This was their first look at the grave Elf-Lord face and it was terrifying. All these years he had been the pretty, peripheral relative with the tamest versions of his hair-raising adventures. Now they knew this truly was the creature who rained death on the hardest men of the last century. 

Inariel came to the same conclusion about life in Middle-earth walking home at sunset. Quaint Dol Amroth had never been ready for the real Nag Kath. As hard as he tried to blend, it only took a few hapless assassins to ruin everything. The Princess got a mug of cold tea from the dregs of the pot and asked, “That was ‘the fast’?”

“That was ‘the fast’. I do not think the man I hit will wake. If he does, he’ll wish he hadn’t. The Prince will want my aid. I must decline. You have more enemies than you did yesterday and I cannot protect you here.”

She knew that too. Inariel sat on the couch next to him and handed him the mug for a sip of very strong tea. He gave it back and she drained it before saying, “I think we should visit Minas Tirith for a time.”

‘Umhmm.”

______________-------______________

This was a trip of unknowns. Dol Amroth was in a lather but Nag Kath’s part would be forgotten in the blink of Elvish eyes. In mannish time it seemed forever. Inariel had been ill once. Did the pull of the Undying Lands cause her relapse into Agar lhîw sickness? The treatment was effective which made it the leading suspect.

The couple did not know if this would be their last visit to the City of the King, Cith of the White Tree. With all their hearts they hoped not. It was too painful. Both of them loved Middle-earth and wanted to stay with their friends, family, places that beckoned with wonder and grace. There was so much left to see! After the usual round of visits and meals, there was important work to even consider sailing to the Undying Lands that fell short of wishing everyone goodbye. 

The day they arrived, Nag Kath pulled the ship-building file from the papers he brought here years ago and poured over the two smaller ships – boats, really. He was up late that night doodling with ideas how two people could sail a craft capable of withstanding blue-water passage. Inariel was reading next to him. With Elf-eyes, two lamps were enough. Not finding what he wanted, he brought the big file over to the low table and flipped through the sheets from the Grey Havens. She had seen these before but watched his face. He found the keel diagram. Lifting it exposed the Elvish drawing of Varda and Ulmo. Inariel saw that and said gleefully, “Oh, you have one too.”

“Hughmmm?”

The Princess picked it up and recalled, “Mother had one of these, or near enough. Milli kept it.”

Trying not to lose his concentration he gave his stock opinion, “Sorry, I have never learned to appreciate Elvish art … too rigid.”

She stared at the witless orc and grinned, “No, silly. It is a map, a map to the Undying Lands.”

Gobsmacked, he dropped the sheet. She seemed very pleased with herself. “There, you see, the hair and water-weeds form currents to the straight-road. Only Elves and those with the countenance of the Valar can travel there, lest they be lost or drowned. Mother hummed a poem to go with it.”

He leaned back on the couch and sighed. It wasn’t quite Gandalf’s eye-closing in Orthanc but near enough. They spent another few minutes looking at what he had taken to be an uninspired sketch as she explained the fish and then the stars. She did not know what they meant in navigation.

Was this the arrogance of having lived so long that he did not consider possibilities? Here he was; creator of the greatest false treasure-map in the history of Mordor, and he dismissed the drawing out-of-hand. As her reward, he took her up to the bedroom.

In the deepest night, Nag Kath walked out on the porch to look at the sky. Passing clouds interfered a little but he saw the same heavens he knew. Men positioned their maps using the Carnipal star at the top of the page. Inariel’s little map used a different guide-star, perhaps her great grandfather Eärendil as he sailed through heaven. He wondered if they changed getting closer to the Undying Lands as they had in Miraz. This map might be from before the sundering of heavens in battles with Morgoth. They could not have all been recorded.

Inariel dearly wished she did not have a secret agenda, but she did not want to tell her family she was leaving if she did not have to go. On their second visit to Milli’s apartments, Inariel round-aboutly asked if she remembered their mother’s little map. Older sister furrowed her brows a little and replied, “Yes, you know, I think I do. It is with the things in her study. I just left them there. Look in the drawers. Mr. Bentrae has the key.”

After lunch, the Kaths had the steward unlock the door for them and walked inside. Considering the expansiveness of Aragorn’s office, this was a closet, but it let Arwen get away from the palace with her own things and thoughts. Nag Kath looked at the discoloration on the wall where the Princess’s masterpiece had hung. She carefully rummaged through a chest of wide, low, sliding drawers until she saw the map.

They took it outside in the hall for better light and she showed how her mother had imagined the sailing of Elrond and her kin. Nag Kath wondered again if the Queen had anticipated that her little girl might need to leave. Arwen never said it directly. Elves seldom do, at least, in a manner he would be likely to notice. The picture was slightly different than his, but the star pattern was the same. Legolas probably had one. That was no guarantee he found his way.

________________------_______________

It was just as hard for Nag Kath to pretend that this was just another visit with the Conaths. He and Inariel might not leave for a generation but his time was at last finite. Over the years he tended to think of these folks as the Northman branch of the tree and the Dol Amroth folk as the Dúnedains. By looks that was certainly the case. Both tended to have small, close families. Neither thought themselves as pretenders to rule. They had a lot of money in property. Some were indolent but only a few had ever been black sheep. As heirs of Kath and Reyald of the Celduin, however many generations removed, they took their militia training seriously. At least one in every clutch was an archer and someone in the family always owned a horse. Nag Kath was very proud of them and told them so.

Against the backdrop of troubles in Dol Amroth, the Elf watched the Kathen families quickly learn to be jewelers or builders or do something other than wait for their parents to die. That seemed a harder lesson after twenty eight generations of Princes in Belfalas. High-born boys of Dol Amroth were marrying rich merchants’ daughters to maintain appearances. Inariel’s infuriating Elf grinned, musing that he had married above his station, given his origin; well above. She gave him another reason to smile that evening and then lay on his chest to say, “You have not asked me about the mirror, husband.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That was for you. I told you what I saw because it affects you. I am sure you will tell me if I need to know.”

A little of the petulant Princess showed through, “That is so unfair! Men are supposed to ask their ladies so we can refuse.”

After one hundred and forty years, he still did not recognize gentle teasing from the gentle sex. Orcs only had vicious teasing. He responded thoughtfully, “That does not seem wise.”

“Oh, you are a nuisance! Now I cannot even gloat!”

Over the winter, Scholar Kath scoured the archives for Elvish navigation. It was thin. They always seemed to know where they were going, having done it for ages and seldom going new places. Inariel spent the time visiting her brother and sister and their families. Neither sibling remembered their mother’s poem for the drawing. 

There was no actual plan for the couple to leave. Inariel’s illness seemed far away. That came crashing down in February. Nag Kath returned from visiting his newest niece to find Inariel listless on the sofa. He ran over and felt her neck. She was breathing but cold with little pulse. Eyelashes were fluttering. Her Elf dashed to the kitchen and downed an entire Lembas cake with half a pitcher of tea and returned to his wife. The healer applied the same spell as in Alas Forten but brought it up very slowly and held it for several minutes. Then he fell into deep sleep. She woke him the next afternoon by stretching and hitting him on the ear. Both were disoriented but could stand. That confirmed; she flopped back on the couch while he fetched the last cold tea in the kitchen. 

She drank almost all of it and said softly, “Same thing, my dear. Are you sure it is the call?”

“No, but I cannot think of what else. You will not survive another bout.”

“Then I must go.”

“Then I will take you, and we shall see if the Valar approve our bloods. You are my wife and we will face what we find together. It is time to tell those we love.”

In the Kingdom of Gondor, the King comes first. Inariel and Nag Kath walked up to their apartments on the seventh and asked both the King’s and Princess’ stewards if they could meet shortly. That was arranged in two hours. The three children of Aragorn and Arwen met in the King’s quarters with Queen Aranthal and Nag Kath for moral support. 

Inariel started to cry and begged their forgiveness. When she was able, she said, “Brother, sisters, I must go to the Undying Lands. My difficulty has returned twice, near to death the last. My time in Middle-earth is ending. I had fourteen years more than I would have and was returned to you, for which I am so very grateful. We will sail to Dol Amroth after settling our affairs and take a craft across the waves in hopes of finding our kin. I will miss you all so terribly …”

That was as much as she could bear. Her siblings were stunned. Eldarion managed, “When must you go, dear sister?”

When Inariel could not answer, Nag Kath said, “We will leave here in two or three weeks and make for the sea. There we will have a boat made to follow those who have gone before. We may not find it or not be accepted, but there is no other path for us now.” He looked at his wife who could still not speak for sobbing. Millicend was in shock. “You will see us several more times, my friends, and we hope to say goodbye to the Prince and Princess in Ithilien as well as your families.”

The Elf was tearing-up too. However many times he had repeated this in his head, this, the first admission of finality, was another piece of his endless emotional puzzle. The Queen was able to say, “I will arrange a dinner with all of our children as soon as may be, perhaps when you return from Emyn Arnen. Husband?” She looked at the King who nodded gravely.

Nag Kath took Inariel back to her apartments and let her sleep. He would need to sleep tonight too but he willed himself to visit the Conaths first. Inariel would see them before they left but he wanted her to give as few heartrending tidings as possible. 

It was late in the day. Fieldar was home. He and Mazienne had seen Uncle Nag only a few days before and invited him in to share their evening meal. He shook his head and sat on the couch muttering, “Field, I remember teaching you to shoot when you were seven. You had a little bow with padded arrows. You were so good that your da and I got you a real bow. We were so proud, like the hero of the lake reborn ...”

He broke down. All those years of loss for everyone he had loved became the loss of everyone left. There were so many. Nag Kath had told himself over and over in times of terrible doubt that love alone kept him from the pit. And now, for the love of one, he must leave all else. It was as long as an immortal could live in the Fourth Age of men. If the slaughter in Dol Amroth was any guide, his time here was ending as surely as Inariel’s. 

He cried while Fieldar and Mazienne waited patiently. After a pull of tea, he composed himself enough to say, “Inariel is failing. I must take her to the Undying Lands or lose her. We make for the sea in two or three weeks. I will not return.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and made himself finish, “I want to tell everyone. Can you arrange that for me? There is much to do.”

The Conaths were as stunned as the royals. Mazienne finally breathed, “Of course, Uncle Nag. When?”

“Ten days, or thereabouts. The King and Princess Millicend will be doing the same thing on their end and their schedules are harder to change.” He let himself chuckle at that. “We will see Barahir and Talienne in a day or two. And this is not a funeral! We are off on a long journey like many I have taken before. Throw us a party to remember.”

Ten days, or thereabouts. For someone who had all the time in the world, it seemed the blink of an eye.

____________-------____________

Nag Kath and Inariel slept until the afternoon three-bell, unheard of in their years together. When they woke, they felt fairly good and decided to ride to Emyn Arnen with the dawn. They helped themselves to two Lossarnach mounts from the officers’ stables and rode hard to Osgiliath, feeling the wind in their hair. The couple made the palace just after the lunch bell and waited to be announced.

Barahir was seventy-eight and Talienne sixty-nine. Time was catching them too. Since the Kath’s were seldom the bearers of bad news, the Prince started almost immediately by apologizing that his book was in the second draft and not fit to be seen.

Inariel smiled and gently touched his hand, “Then I am afraid we will miss it, old friend.”

They stayed three days. Inariel did read the draft. It wasn’t very long. She even had the presence to note a few things His Lordship might consider before offering the tale to a wider audience. Their children and grandchildren joined them the night before they left. Nag Kath made heir Tyaldran swear that he would never replace the name under the Dunlending. Talienne might be the last of the Queen Nepthats. Time would tell, time they did not have. 

The Kath’s spent a night in Osgiliath. He wanted to say goodbye to Gred's family and let him know there would be new customers shortly. Mostly he wanted to hear the water one last time.

________________------_______________

There is a lot to consider when leaving a legacy. The morning after they returned to Minas Tirith, Nag Kath walked to Hermiston Calader, a fine notary, and said he needed his undivided attention until his affairs were settled. A nipper secured that. After some generous gifts, the property was to be divided between the Shurran and Eniecia branches of the family along with all of the bank accounts. There was the possibility that they would be rebuffed in the ocean and return, but they would not arrive any worse off than they left. Nag Kath would take a sack of gold and half of the remaining diamonds, which he reckoned were fungible among the firstborn. 

The hard part was his art and archives. It was a large collection since he hardly ever sold anything. Nag Kath made three stacks. One was for the scholars. They could catalog it or burn it as they saw fit. Most it was architectural renderings including the aqueduct but also spares of the great buildings of Middle-earth. A second, much smaller pile was for the families here and in Dol Amroth. It had pictures of places too but it was more of people and commemoration of time. The third, of about the same size, were the things he would take with him. Those were mostly folk too. Some were places that meant a great deal to him but it was the people he would hold dear.

The Princess had seen him sort through these before but there was more to learn. This was his measure of time, how he created the childhood he never had. Other than Pelargir, her Elf seldom visited cemeteries. This was his burial ground – faces rather than stones. She watched him burn the illustrations back into his extraordinary memory, adapting Saruman's dubious legacy. On many he hefted the sheet in his hand as if weighing it before finding the pile.

Inariel did her legacy planning too. She owned a lot of little things, some worth quite a bit, but they needed to stay in the family. Her two large assets were the half interest in Lossarnach and Alas Forten. The horse farm was easy. When she was gone, it was Milli’s. Alas Forten she decided to give to the people who had served her so faithfully. Mr. Calader devised a transfer for the Kath’s to take with them. 

Eldarion’s farewell was solemn with kingly honors. Nag Kath had no sense of the history but he was, by any stretch of the imagination, the greatest hero of the Fourth Age. He never saw it. He just tried hard. As requested, the Conath family party was anything but somber. The heirs of the Bowman sent the Kath’s out in style. There were tears at the end. There was no avoiding that.

Two days later, the Telcontars and the Conaths saw them off on the ferry to Pelargir. Here were two more goodbyes; Helien for all the children who never had a chance, and Phylless for his mortal loves. 

In Dol Amroth Nag Kath booked a room at an inn under the name of Solvanth near the commercial harbor for a month to stash the things they brought with them. Inariel waited while he walked to the respected shipwrights Laksiel and Teran. They specialized in very fine smaller ships and boats, mostly for the navy but also private citizens. 

Nag Kath took the Elvish sketch of a four-man boat that could me managed by two with skill and a number or drawings he made to Mr. Laksiel Junior. The fellow looked them over closely and said, “I remember da used designs like this years ago. When the Navy went to the forward-keel models, they fell out of fashion, but elements remained. Where to do you plan to travel?”

“We have property near Nargond. There are times I would rather sail than travel by horse.”

The boatwright did some chin-holding and said, “Tricky waters, and you might see swells. You would not want anything smaller. Will you be carrying cargo?”

“No, or so little we may need ballast in a squall.”

Laksiel Junior asked, “This was built for that. When do you need this, Lord Kath?”

So much for keeping this quiet. “I want it to be the next craft you make and will pay whatever that costs.”

“Normally it would be four Florin. If we drop everything else and make apologies, call it five. I need two weeks.”

“I will be back then.”

Nag Kath stopped at a mercantile office for half a bell and then he and his Princess rode to Alas Forten. 

Usually there was advance notice that the Lord and Princess would arrive. This time they rode to the stables and walked in the back door. Over the next week all noticed the couple was not their usual selves, not something identifiable, just a different sense about how they approached the same things. Inariel spent time with Miss Told. The woman had done very little lady’s-maiding in the last fourteen years. Nearing seventy, she would not have to do even that much longer.

At the start of the third week, they explained themselves. It was not the collective gasp of the first farewells. The folk of Alas Forten were dear but also employees. The gasp came when they were told that the farm was theirs. Inariel presented the deed and shares along with a purse of twenty-five Florin in gold. Folk could take their interest in the property or cash. The Lieutenant and Miss Told would see to the arrangements. Again, they were sad except for Miss Told. Her fairy Princess was going away with her love to live forever in the land without strife. It was romantic.

There was one more chore on the mainland. 

The farm hadn’t changed much in the last four years. Even in winter there was work in the garden or caring for their animals. Delthandir and Beksa were planting the late cabbage. Inara was further down their lane tending the lamb pen. They saw the Elves arrive and came to greet them. There were handshakes and hugs all round. Auntie Inara said to her namesake, “Child, look how you have grown!” Inara grinned and shrugged. She was at least two inches taller than her mother. 

The girl looked behind her and squealed before sprinting back to open gate of the pen. This was not the elbow and knee run of a lass. She covered the ground quickly and did not take the feint of an escaping lamb. 

Delthandir agreed, “She is tall indeed. We had thought she might be more womanly at this age.”

Lady Inariel said evenly, “That is why we have come.”

Beksa thought a moment and called to her daughter, “Inara, take coppers from the cup. You and Enedith go to the village and ask if Mrs. Hellith has any more of her rhubarb pies. If not, see what else you can find for dessert. Uncle and Auntie will be staying for dinner. Be back before then, mind.”

That meant she would have time to see her friends. Inara showed the same closing speed she used to nab the lamb and collected Cook. Enideth left the house draping a shawl over her shoulders, looking at her employers with a mix of curiosity and understanding. The Leavens needed privacy. Delthander motioned for his guests to go inside.

The Elves and Delthander sat at the table. Beksa took a pitcher of cool tea from the pie safe and brought four cups before taking her seat. It was the Elves turn to talk. Nag Kath began, “This is not bad news. It might be very good news. And it might not be news at all. We …” looking at Inariel “… need to reintroduce ourselves. I am what I said, a wandering healer of Elvish extraction with small sorcerous powers.” He looked again at his lady.

“And I am the Princess Inariel Telcontar.”

The Leavens started to rise and bow but Inariel quickly said, “No, please. In this happy home I am Auntie Inara. We are just old friends.”

Both sat down. Nat Kath continued, “Only three days before your Inara was born, I had to heal the Prin … Inara from a malady unseen in thousands of years. She had been born a woman but the Elf in her blood rebelled. I restored her in favor of her mother’s people to save her.”

Inariel took the next leg, “We believe that the orange glow we saw was my father’s life spirit transferring from me to Inara. If so; she may have become a Dúnedain, after a fashion.”

The parents looked at each other. This was not how they thought the day would go. Delthander asked, “Is my daughter healthy?”

Nag Kath took that one, “I imagine she is healthier than anyone you know. Is she ever ill?”

Beksa answered for him, “She has never been sick a day in her life. A jagged cut she got two years ago healed without a scar.”

Nag Kath observed, “She is fast, too.”

The tension broke. Delthandir laughed, “None of the boys will race her anymore.”

Inariel said thoughtfully, “She is taking after me and my father. I was tall and athletic at her age too. Both of my bloods are slow to develop. We are still not certain, Nag Kath will have to do a simple test, but she could live 200 years. The difficulty is that she will probably outlive her grandchildren. It is an adjustment.”

Beksa looked at both guests and ventured, “It would be hard to wed ...” and immediately put her hand to her mouth, put in mind of Princess Millicend's recent loss. 

Inariel reached to the mortified woman’s other hand in silent comfort.

Nag Kath thought it was time to come clean. “Delthandir, Beksa, I do not offer an apology. I had to save Inariel’s life and then we had to save your life and your daughter’s. I would do it every time. That is why we have returned to see our niece. She is a lovely child and will become a fine woman.” 

He became graver, “Right now, only we four know. The story will need to stay that way.”

It was time for the segment Inariel had rehearsed, “There is more. Through spirit and magic, if not blood, your daughter is my sister, and daughter to Aragorn, Lord of the Reunited Kingdom.”

The Leavens were taking this well. Nag Kath continued, “We have had fourteen years to think about this. It seems Inara is indeed who we thought. Inariel and I suggest you consider taking her to Arnor for a year, there to spend time with the King’s Dúnedain kin and see if you like it. They are mostly farmers, just as here. I will make sure you are welcome. It is there she will most likely find a match to last her lifetime.”

Beksa handled the family finances and said, “I’m sorry to tell you, Nag, but we really can’t afford to take a year away from the farm.”

Lady Inariel cleared her throat and stared at her husband as if he had failed to buy a promised round at the tavern. Nag Kath caught her gaze and righted, “Oh, yes.” He pulled a fat purse from his jacket and set it on the table. “There is twenty Florin to ease your time away. Please do not think of this as a bribe. Inara is your daughter and this is entirely your decision.”

Beksa blurted, “Twent … ! Nag, your Ladyship, I hate farmin’. And I think Delthandir is getting tired of it. For twenty dented, I’ll gladly go anywhere you say.” She looked to Delthandir who nodded enthusiastically.

Nag Kath thought to practicalities, “You will need to wait until spring. Have you traveled much?”

They shook their heads. He added, “It is not the hard road it was, but it is still no casual stroll. Delthandir, can you handle a sword?”

He said, “I practiced with the militia every summer but I’ve never wielded it in anger.” With that he went to the storeroom and produced a dusty sword and scabbard for Nag Kath’s inspection. This was my grandfather’s.” 

The Elf looked at the hilt then thought a long moment. “Delthander, a northern name, yes?” 

“My great grandfather, a villain as the story goes. He came here after trouble in Arnor and died in an Umbar raid.”

Nag Kath said, “Please give me your hand.”

After the slightest hesitation, Delthander did. Nag Kath took his wrist gently but firmly and closed his eyes. In a matter of moments, the farmer’s arm began to glow, yellow at first and then deepening to a light orange. To his credit, the man stayed calm. It was over in a few seconds. There was no pain but Delthander did feel a residual tingle.

Nag Kath looked at his hosts and chortled, “Well, it seems little Inara is getting Dúnedain from two places. Do you come from long-lived folk?”

Leaven replied, “Aye. My mother is over seventy but looks fifty.”

Inariel asked, “Will leaving cause her hardship?”

Beksa stifled a laugh through her nose. Delthander explained, “My mother is a wraith of the first water. Not only did your miracle save our babe, it gave us the best of reasons not to name the girl after mum.”

Nag Kath said, “The leader of the Dúnedain people is Tougas. I will give you a letter of introduction. May I suggest that you visit as retired farmers with your young daughter to explore family history from that proud land? You will need a guide. A Dúnedain who is often in Dol Amroth for trade has been engaged and will contact you in that city at the Inn of the Knight on the first of May.”

The Princess offered another small cough.

“My Lady reminds me that the fellow is, perhaps, not the most genteel company for ladies of the blood.” That did not relieve him of the stare. “I will speak to him about that. His name is Wallandar.”

Unimpressed, Inariel took charge, “You can tell anyone about Nag Kath. It might be better if you leave me out. People will talk. And do not mention the passing spirit, lest some might seek to elevate dear Inara and put her in jeopardy.” The next sentence was said as the daughter of the King, “Passage from Dol Amroth to Mithlond will be arranged next spring and thence to the city of Annúminas. People have been retained to be sure you are properly provisioned.”

After dinner they played a game to see what colors Nag Kath could conjure from everyone. As with the horse ride years ago, Enideth declined. Auntie and Uncle were silver. Mother was yellow. Father was slightly darker and daughter giggled because she was the shade of pumpkins in the garden.

________________------_______________

Prince Armandor dug deep. The man with the broken face did live long enough to answer questions. New Men were not as tough as they thought, including the Prince’s second son Albreton. Lowly New Men were banished. Those in government were executed. Higher men got a mix of the two. Albreton fell on his sword after using it to kill his son. That wounded the Prince and Princess to the heart. His line had taken casualties in service to their beloved land before, including many who did not deserve it. Breton was buried in a lime pit.

Expecting as much, Nag Kath and Inariel waited until they were nearly ready before reporting to Raniece’s. The older Ivandred line knew for weeks. Talienne’s letter arrived with them. After having done the presentation so many times, it became a trek for health and new adventure. There were tears, but the pain of having said it once was the worst. Shares, money and jewels were spread here too along with the pictures and two horses. Orlon and Shadro were getting up there in years. A soft Dol Amroth billet was the best retirement a horse could ask. 

The younger folk were told what they already knew and assembled for a farewell dinner. Word of the royal return would be known across the city. They would visit the Prince if asked but did not request an audience. The man might feel having the avenging sorcerer leave this world was a heaven-sent way to salve raw wounds. Lord Kath had never really been a creature of the new Fourth Age.

Saying goodbye was mostly for afternoons and evenings. In the mornings, Nag Kath and Inariel practiced sailing in deep water. She had watched the many ships she had been on and understood how to position the hull based on the waves and wind. Fishing with Nag Kath helped. She learned quickly and, more importantly, was not afraid. Inara did take the luxury of bringing several pairs of dainty Princess gloves to protect fast-healing Elf hands. 

Raniece hosted the last party. Everyone came except for Salvie, her husband Rohtho and sister Callistriana. Salvie was expecting a child any moment. The royals were prepared to run to her aid if she went into labor. If not, they would sneak by in the morning. It wasn't the bash at the Conaths, but not somber either. The youngsters were excited to hear how Uncle Nag slew the traitors. Heiri cried. Nag Kath explained that on the porch.

In the morning the Kath’s did drop by Salvie and Rohtho’s house to check on the expectant mother. The baby would be her second and she was fine. They spent a few minutes at Callistriana and Poldarin’s next door to leave diamonds and get hugs. Inariel decided she liked hugs and had better get them on this side of the sea.

Hand in hand, they walked to the boat. 


	3. Harvién

_**Chapter 3** _

_**Harvién** _

__

**The rest of the book works around the map called Valinor Topo.** [ **https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8** ](https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8) **It is borrowed from the excellent Mark Fisher and I’ve added rivers and Principalities to describe the factions I need to make the story work. sh**

They packed light. There was a large supply of false-lembas, carefully wrapped and stowed in the hold. Nag Kath brought a number of his drawings and papers stored in the leather art tubes that had served him so well. They had clothes and slickers against the weather. Not much courtly apparel was included. Nag Kath brought one hundred thirty diamonds and a hundred Florin in gold. All else was left with family and friends where it would matter. Neither of them knew what to expect. After clearing the sheltering point; Nag Kath quipped, “Well, my dear, now we follow your nose.”

“What nonsense is that, husband?”

“You are the one called. I am only hoping to slip in as your servant.”

They both grinned. The actual plan had been drawn well before and it was to round the point at Andrast and sail north-northwest as if making for the Grey Havens before veering west to the deep blue. There was reasonable doubt that the hints on the maps would be clear to them.

Less certain was the right of entry. This was not purely a voyage against waves and wind. Powers too great to imagine decided access to the ‘straight road’ – said not to conform to the curving of the world. Inariel’s provenance was better than his, but she had a goodly amount of his orc-tainted life-spirit that might have to pass rigorous scrutiny. The Elves who knew the Valar’s requirements were already on the other shore and brought their records with them. The decision was made. If they were rebuffed, they would turn back. He would not fall into the sea to increase her chances and let her die in grief like her mother.

The Belegaer was the same as usual; choppy this time of year with swells from the northwest. Further from shore, waves rolled more than they broke so it was simply a matter of holding the prow into the surge and tacking to keep the direction. In the first three weeks they got several nasty soakings. 

The voyagers did not stop at Harlond. Supplies were sufficient. Rain had filled the barrel. It was time to turn past sight of land. Wind was mostly against. It would not have been possible for men needing sleep. Nag Kath and Inariel alternated in wakeful rest when it was calm but that is difficult on a rocking boat. Three days after making due-west they headed into a winter storm. Swells came over the bow and they were glad of having put a deck over the hull with scuppers to shed the water.

The sea calmed to its normal patterns and they tacked in tight zigzags under familiar stars for another week. One surface current formed a pattern similar to the map for two days but then the waters calmed as they entered thick mist. For three days they drifted west. If large swells were coming from the north, they would not know in time. The stars were gone as well. Then the wind died altogether. For two days in water no rougher than Lake Nennûrad they went nowhere and hoped, wondering if the Valar or their servants were considering their admission. There was also the chance that there were no Holy eyes on this part of the sea. Everyone coming should already be here. 

On the third day, they took a risk. Nag Kath had never tried a spell for wind but he thought he had some of the skills on water so he borrowed a page from his old da Saruman and summoned a westerly breeze. Compared to the weather called by the powerful wizard it was a mere zephyr, but the boat started to move. Inariel unfurled sail and they started forward, listening to the little waves lapping against the hull. It was still another two days of not being able to see more than fifty paces but then, as if guided by an invisible hand, a current needing no sail or rudder began guiding them west by southwest. Inariel slowly remembered her mother’s song of the sea from childhood and sang in her sweet, high voice. Three days later they broke into bright sun and beheld the coast Nag Kath saw in Galadriel’s mirror.

The harbor was splendid, much like the Grey Havens, though in a smaller, sheltered bay. They coasted towards a wharf guided by the unerring ‘straight road’ and gently bumped the dock. Two Elves came from a building along the pier and watched them tie Daisy to the cleats. One said in Sindarin, “Good day, friend. Are you just in from Eldamar?”

Nag Kath replied, “Nay, sir. We are come from Middle-earth.”

They looked at each other for a long moment and the other observed, “A long trip on uncertain seas, sir, ma’am.”

Inariel smiled a lovely Elf smile and agreed, “We have been some time coming but do not know where we are.”

“This is the port of Alqualondë, young lady. This is most unusual. How are you here now?”

“My husband and I are just now called to the Undying Lands.”

The second Elf saw no difficulty and said, “It was the custom of those arriving to go where their people live. Do you seek someone in particular?”

The Princess replied, “I am of Lord Elrond’s house. Does he live nearby?”

“He lives in the foothills of Eldamar, some two hundred leagues south.”

Nag Kath asked, “Forgive us, sir. We are quite young by your count of years. Who are the people of your fair city?”

The first Elf answered, “We are mostly of the Teleri under the lordship of King Olwë.” People started coming from other buildings to look from a respectful distance. He continued, “Though, there are many bloods to be found in all of Aman.”

Remembering the traditions of western sailors, Nag Kath asked, “May we disembark, sir?”

The second Elf was a little surprised, “Oh yes, certainly. Come, we should see the harbormaster.”

Nag Kath and Inariel hopped off the boat and were glad to stretch their legs on stable ground. The two harbor men added the aft cleat rope before bracketing the newcomers on a short walk. There were perhaps a hundred smaller craft like theirs and a full dozen larger ships at anchor in the deeper channel. On the way, Inariel asked if this port served vessels of their own coast. Elf Two said, “Yes, but most Teleri are near the Calacirya River mouth where they are protected by the Isle of Eressëa to our southeast. It is strange that you were not drawn to Avallonë.”

She had heard of the city, “We were in thick mist for the longest time. Perhaps we passed by.”

Five minutes later, they entered a pleasant building that would be dangerously close to the waterline in Middle-earth. It did not seem the worse for surges. At a small desk was an Elf who looked a bit like Nag Kath. Their second greeter walked over for a word and the Quendu rose to meet them saying, “Fingaron says you are just docked from Middle-earth.”

Nag Kath replied, “Yes, sir. A long voyage.”

“Are you alone?”

Inariel answered, “It is just the two of us. No other craft follow.”

The harbormaster was here to see to safe docking and transport. They seemed safe enough. There were no protocols about stragglers coming in from the east. They got here, so the powers that allow such things blessed their arrival. Neither traveler mentioned stealing a little of Middle-earth’s air in the crossing. The couple introduced themselves as the Kaths and repeated that they would seek the lands of Lord Elrond. The relationship of the Princess was not asked or revealed.

That was by design. The Princess had royal blood of all three original Elvish clans in her veins, including the Teleri through both King Olwë and his brother King Thingol in Middle-earth. They had not always gotten along with each other or with the Ñoldorin, though the bloodlines were quite tangled. Almost all of her royalty came from those born in Middle-earth and that might not count for much here either. The plan was to find her maternal grandfather who she had heard of all her life. Gimli and Gandalf told Nag Kath he was a reasonable sort.

Being helpful, the harbormaster said, “That is a fair distance. You could sail some of it but his realm is inland. Have you given any thought how you will travel?”

Nag Kath admitted, “Nay, we had no idea what to expect. Your welcome has been most gracious. I suppose we will seek lodging for the night and perhaps you can direct us where we can purchase horses.”

Harbormaster Tenguil thought a moment, not knowing if these castaways were entitled to Teleri accommodations or had any money for a commercial inn. He decided to send them to modest lodgings where their purse would be discussed by the proprietor. “If you walk up the lane towards the tower, the shorter tower, there are rooms at the White Jewel. They can tell you where to find mounts.”

Nag Kath asked, “Can we moor our boat and things here for a time?”

“Of course. We will pull it into a slip. Just come get it when you are settled.”

Inariel said, “It has served us well. When we leave, perhaps you can find use for it.”

The Harbormaster had not seen it, but any craft capable of getting here was worth something. It would find a home. Thanked for graciousness both ways, the Kaths returned to the boat to get their essential bags and walked up to the White Jewel.

Elf two from the wharf observed, “Strange accents for both. They look familiar, in different ways.”

The first said gravely, “Two more Ñoldorin, methinks. Better they ride south than try to dock in Naitë Mélamar.”

__________------_________

The inn was different than they were used to as well. In western Middle-earth, inns are generally the second or higher stories over a tavern. The denizens of the tavern define the quality of the inn. Here was a respectable dining area with no bar. Rooms went back or up. They approached a desk and were greeted by what back home would be a pretty young lady. She might be two thousand years old. The Quenda asked, “Good afternoon, how may we help?”

Nag Kath said, “We would like a room for the night and dinner, possibly a longer stay.”

“She had no booking page. From memory she said, “I have two rooms upstairs. The charge is two Delsui.”

Nobody said anything about money. Even Easterlings took gold and silver Numenorean coins. Nag Kath said, “We have money of the east.” He laid out two silvers. 

She looked for a moment and said, “Another of those will serve.” She got it and took them up the staircase to the third floor. It was small but had a window and smelled like it had never been dirty. Come to that, they hadn’t smelled anything bad, even at low tide. There were no hour-bells. Elves know when to eat. They wandered back down at what seemed dinnertime and were seated at a communal table for a meal of fish, grain and altogether new greens. Tea came with it. Wine was extra. 

So far; so good. No trolls had exploded out of pits to reclaim their brother orc. Inariel felt fine, so fine they tested the other guests’ hearing after long, unromantic confinement on their tiny boat. The bed was very small too but there were comfortable chairs for rest afterwards, if guests were so inclined.

Breaking their fast, both of them determined that porridge was what everyone ate in this world and all other worlds unknown to them. One could add honey from a small pot on the table. There was tea and also unique fruits that seemed very fresh in winter. At the desk, an Elf with rather short hair was on duty and Nag Kath asked him where they might buy horses. That was not a usual question but a respected stable was a quarter mile north and inland about that far. The Elf did not have the usual fawning smile of a concierge looking for a tip. Risking offense, Nag Kath put a silver on the counter and asked, “Do you see these often, sir?”

In this land, no one had to get close or far and squint. He said, “Every so often from people who came on the Swan Ships after the last war. Three of these are a bit more than two Delsui.”

“How about one of these?” He put a nipper on the counter.

The clerk said, “Same as a quarter Fluren.” 

Nag Kath picked up the gold but left the silver with thanks as they made their way to the stables. Here; differences in doing business were smaller. Men or Elves working with horses have the same wares. The horses here were very nice but Inariel doubted they were any smarter than hers. At a tidy paddock they saw a half dozen promising animals where a Quendu in leathers was loading grain into the trough. 

Our Elf asked, “Your pardon, we were told there might be three horses available here for purchase.”

Nothing brown was spit between those white teeth but he was a tough horseman, and no error. He replied, “Just the horses?”

Nag Kath said, “We will need two with saddles and tack. The third is for light packs so a pannier saddle for him or her.”

The stable boss thought they looked good for the money. The youngster was a strapping fellow with a queer accent. She was a lovely child, his sister perhaps? They could do business. “Hmmm, let me see. I could let you have that bay, the chestnut and the brown gelding in the corner. Outfitted as you said, make it two Flurin for all.”

“That was probably a high offer to be negotiated. Nag Kath countered, “Make it the dapple rather than the bay and we have an understanding.”

His best horse, but that was still a good deal for the stable master. These greenbottoms knew horse-flesh and were not here to haggle. He nodded, “Give me an hour to get the pannier.”

Nag Kath caught himself before reaching out to shake hands. They bowed and walked back towards the inn for sightseeing. The city was beautiful but seemed a bit sad. Alqualondë was not as populated as it could be. In the great capitals of home, there would be people bustling, speaking, sometimes arguing and generally about their business. Here; buildings back from the water’s edge were sometimes empty. This was the site of the first Kinslaying, the start of civil war among beings wholly unused to violence. In Elvish places, the spirit of such things lingers.

________________------_______________

That afternoon, they collected their horses. One saddle and tack was fairly new. The other; fairly old. The smaller was the better so that went on Inariel’s mount. The gelding got the packs. According to directions at the inn, they wanted to go south on the only road and then turn at the mountain pass. Inara kissed The Daisy's gunwale in thanks for faithful service. On the way out they agreed this would be a splendid place to visit when they had more time, but finding their feet was the first order of business.

It was not as cold as it would be in Middle-earth under the same stars. Here on the main road, there were quite a few travelers. Some had horses, some were on foot and others drove small wagons. Those seemed to be farmers. There were crops still in a few fields too. The Kath’s fell in with two merchants who took silver pigs from the mines above Tirion up to Alqualondë for fine smithing. Most mining was done nearby. 

They traveled with others about half the time for two weeks, always with places to stay and good food that kept getting cheaper as they got away from the Teleri capital. Most nights their companions sang or told poetry, sometimes impromptu and humorous. After a few days they realized that many travelers stayed on-account, if that was the right phrase, on the business of their Lord or people. Somehow the cost was settled later. Reaching the first gap in the imposing range of mountains that formed the spine of the continent, they took the road heading further inland. Folk they met thought them queer in their strange garments but not threatening. No one was threatening. 

Tirion was even larger then Alqualondë. The closest dubious comparison from their world might be Ûbésêsh but for the color of the stones. Khand must have gotten ideas from this lot but Nag Kath had no idea how. Even larger parts of this city were vacant, or thinly populated. This was the Ñoldorin realm. The Princess had considerable of their blood. Nag Kath’s was unmentionable so they kept both heritages quiet.

The couple took rooms at a very expensive lodge that also bought good answers to their questions. Lord Elrond and his followers were better known here. His capital was another ten day’s hard ride south in the foothills of the Pelóri Mountains which split the entire length of the continent. Tirion was built on the only easy gap to the interior but the road was surprisingly unused. The ones who lived there stayed there. That was also where many of the Valar and their servants dwelt. 

In contrast, the north-south road was busy. There was an inn at the end of the first day’s ride with good hay and oats for hungry mounts. Four days later they passed the tallest mountain, Taniquetil, where the Valar Manwë and Varda were said to live in a magnificent palace in the clouds. It looked bloody cold.

________________------_______________

Two weeks out of Tirion, the ground rose as the main road veered into the foothills. They were now in Harviën, land of the former Rivendell Elves. Scenery offered subtle similarities to Imladris. It was nothing tangible, more of a feel. The innkeeper at the last stop before Lord Elrond’s capital city told them exactly where to turn. 

This was not a secret place of hidden trails and illusion among the boulders. None of the complex was visible from the road but after only a few miles, ground opened onto a more pastoral valley than Imladris. The way in was farmed fields rather than rock formations. Set in splendor was the next homely house with another bell’s ride at a good pace to reach the central courtyard of an actual city. An attendant tied their reins to a guest rail and greeted them, “Welcome to Harvién.”

Nag Kath smiled a respectful Elf smile, “Thank you. We have come seeking a few minutes of Lord Elrond’s time.”

Not many people came here unannounced and those were always known to the Lord’s staff. The Quendu said politely, “Lord Elrond does not receive unscheduled guests.”

Inariel suggested, “We are just here from Middle-earth and have tidings, sir.”

That was more unexpected than they were. He told them to wait and loped up two flights of stairs. The complex was different but the main building was a near copy of Rivendell. The attendant walked into the station of the house steward and said, “Good afternoon, Lindir. A couple has just arrived from the north to see Lord Elrond, a young Quendu and a child. They have no appointment.”

Lindir did not look up, “You know the Lord does not receive unannounced guests.”

“I do, sir, but they said they had just arrived from Middle-earth. It seemed worth mentioning.”

Lindir looked up for that and walked to the window where he could see the courtyard. Turning back to the attendant he nodded slightly, “Thank you. I appreciate your noticing. Young, you say?”

“Quite. He is a strapping fellow. She is very fair. Curious accents.”

The Steward considered that a moment and said, “I will let Lord Elrond know. He has told us to keep an ear to news of the east. Wait here.”

Lindir walked up another flight of stairs and gave a slight bow to Elrond Half-Elven, son of Eärendil and of several great houses of Elves and men. Elrond looked up from his desk giving Lindir approval to speak. The steward reported, “My Lord, two travelers have come from the direction of Tirion and asked leave to speak with you briefly … they said they are arrived from Middle-earth.”

Elrond did the same as Lindir and walked to his window looking down on the youngsters waiting by the hitch post. “I do not know them. Middle-earth?”

“I have not spoken to them, My Lord. Should I question them further?”

The Elf Lord shook his head slightly, “No, I am curious now. Please show them up.”

His Steward hurried downstairs and walked to Nag Kath and Inariel with the slightest of bows which they returned more deeply. Linhir said simply, “If you will follow me. I caution you; Lord Elrond does not have much time.”

Three flights of stairs would tire many visitors in the east but Elves climb easily. Lindir led them to Elrond who was still looking down on the horses and beyond. The Steward noticed the Lord’s hands were behind his back which usually meant he was deep in concentration. Hearing them, the ruler of Harvién turned, waiting for their bows.

Nag Kath started, “Thank you for making time to see us My Lord. I am …”

Elrond interrupted, but not abrasively, “You are just come from the east?”

“Yes sir. We docked in Alqualondë.”

The Lord’s stare would not rival Inariel’s but he did his best when asking, “How many were on the ship?”

Inariel answered, “It was just my husband and me on a small boat, My Lord.”

Nag Kath completed the thought, “And we will be the last.”

This was not how Elrond thought this would play. They were clearly not Woodland folk. He said more sternly, “Who are you?”

Our Elf answered, “I am Nag Kath. You may know of me from Gandalf.”

Elrond’s gaze bore in a moment and he said sternly, “Yes, I do. We will deal with that presently. And you, child, you look familiar but I am sure we have never met.”

“I am your grand-daughter Inariel, My Lord.” She bowed again.

The sun shone on him. Yes, a blend of Arwen and Aragorn. In disbelief, he walked to her and put his hands on either side of her face wondering, “How is this possible? I was told you were mortal.”

“I was, grandfather.” He looked at the twined ring he had given Arwen. She added, “When I was little I wrapped yarn around the back so it would not fall off.”

Her husband added, “It is quite a tale, when you have more time, sir.”

All other thoughts banished, the elegant Lord waved his hand to his study table and they sat. Another wave brought Linhir, who was told to see what the kitchen could manage before the evening meal. Then he leaned on the table and queried himself as much as them, “Again, how can this be?”

Inariel turned to Nag Kath who answered, “Agar lhîw caught her in her forty-second year. I only knew it from your own notes. With wizardry I was able to infuse my own line to break the impasse. To my good fortune, I fell in love with the Princess and we have been together since.”

Elrond knew this creature was not the pretty lad he seemed. Leaning forward; “Wizardry?”

“Yes sir. It was the only way I could transfer enough of myself. An Elvish draw would have only taken from her and been replaced by the same imbalance.”

“Show me.”

Nag Kath reached his hand over to Inariel who put her wrist in his palm. He sent a faint silver pulse from his arm to hers and gently kissed her hand when the spell was done. She was healthy so it should have had no real effect, but they both felt some transfer.

The Elf master nodded, glad to see his earlier work had value. Then he brought the conversation to the present, “And why come now?”

Inariel replied, “With my change, the call of Valinor was killing me. We think that strengthened father’s line to create the crisis. I had to try.”

Elrond looked at the large changeling, “And you?”

“I have never felt the draw. I came with the one I love. We hope to make a life for ourselves here.”

They talked an hour. Lord Elrond’s scant education on Nag Kath had primarily come from Gimli. Alas, the Dwarf Lord died ten years before in honor, glad he came. He rested in Legolas’ father’s lands. Tea became dinner with an equal exchange of information about both worlds. Elrond was especially interested in what Nag Kath had learned about the old enemies and destroying dark remnants. Gimli had already told him about the mithril band. 

By the middle of the meal it had not come up so Inariel ventured, “Grandfather, it is always a risk asking about those never seen, but what news of my uncles and grandmother?”

Elrond held his chin for that one before answering, “Elrohir is visiting your great-grandmother and father in their home. Elladan planned to return here by week’s end.” 

The Lord became graver, “Your grandmother never recovered her grace from torment at the hands of the yrchs.” A glimpse at the former Uruk-hai got no reaction. “She lives here in her own quarters, attended by caring retainers. I will take you to her when she is receiving.”

As rehearsed, Inariel said, “Husband, we should get to our inn before full dark.”

Her grand-da proclaimed, “I will not hear of it! You will stay with me.”

That was planned too, but the changeling’s reception might have gone much differently. Thus far, their luck was holding.

___________------___________

The next morning as Lord Elrond finished what he postponed from the day before; the young couple was invited to explore the home amid curious glances from the household staff. The home and estate were like a huge Alas Forten but this was also the capital for Elrond's gardh (domain), much larger than his holdings in Middle Earth. Ground was farmed communally, bounty was distributed and people knew their jobs. Warming her heart, two children of the homely house were fascinated by the newcomers but didn’t get close enough for ear groats. 

Nag Kath had a rite to perform alone. In a meadow towards the farms were three small headstones in Hobbit fashion. Nag Kath walked over, head bowed, and read the inscriptions. Bilbo died only a few years after arriving. That was expected. Frodo died at the age of eighty-one, young for a Halfling, but not one who had been stabbed by a Morgul blade. The changeling took a measure of pride in having ended its former owner’s legacy. Sam made it another twelve years after he arrived. Each had been honored. The Elf didn’t cry. This wasn’t mourning. He did gaze on the small graves for quite a while. Then he walked towards the stream bank and planted his last three Coloma seeds. They weren’t a Hobbit fruit, but the little people loved growing things. One day they would give nutrition and shade for folk to honor this special place.

________________------_______________

On their second morning here, they broke their fast with Elrond. Before finishing, a retainer approached and whispered in the Lord’s ear. Elrond put his napkin on the table and said, “This seems a good time for you to meet your grandmother, Inariel. Both of you; come this way.”

He led them down a corridor that hugged the hillside with windows looking over the fields. That let onto an exterior staircase that gradually worked down to a building set apart from the main home. A chambermaid opened the door and the three passed inside. 

After another turn they came to a very large room that seemed to be a complete home with few inside walls and no kitchen. In one corner was a mannish bed with dressers and cabinets. Across from it was a loom and sewing table used for tapestry. Near the entry door was a sitting area to catch the eastern sun through glass windows. The fourth corner was open, as if waiting for the right use. 

A lovely woman with long, golden hair was sitting at her dressing table, unaware she had company. Her female retainer, who in the land where people aged and ate too much would have been a tough old lady’s maid, bowed to her Lord and gently touched her Ladyship’s shoulder. 

Celebrían slowly rose to greet her guests across the room. They approached her until the two youngsters bowed deeply from twenty feet away. Elrond said rather formally, “Dear wife, I have brought your grand-daughter Inariel, just come from eastern lands.”

The woman gave a vague smile but could not focus. Her husband continued, “And this is Nag Ka …”

Upon seeing him, Celebrían’s skin turned gray as she seemed to grow to eight feet tall the way Gandalf did in shadow. She raised her right hand and howled, shooting a spray of power and fire at the three. The blast, intended for Nag Kath, glanced off his instinctive warding spell into Elrond and Inara. Elrond was hit hardest and flung against the far wall next to the door. Inariel took less energy but was still spun ten feet away.

The changeling, encased in a silver aura, raised his own hand and put the orc-removal spell on his attacker with all the strength he possessed. Lady Celebrían screamed like a wounded animal as his magic overcame her spent effort. Nag Kath held the spell as he approached her writhing in mid-air. A nauseating black miasma emanated from her neck and surrounded her until vanishing into the room. He cautiously got closer and caught her when he ended the spell so she fell into his arms, nearly a repeat of Tanûerv of Thân zîrân.

By now, Inariel was standing and Lord Elrond was limping back. His left arm was broken above the elbow. Nag Kath slipped Celebrían onto the sewing-table face down, pushing the work and implements on the floor. Elrond joined the Kaths and watched as the Elf passed his quill knife over her neck until the blade glowed faint blue. The changeling turned to the reddened lady’s maid and spoke firmly, “Water, towels.” He then turned to Inariel who was pouring a pitcher of tea over her head to douse her smoldering hair, “Dear, can you see if there a yarn-puller in that mess?” The chambermaid found the long tweezers-tool before Inara and set it next to her mistress while the lady’s maid brought the basin and towels. 

Elrond showed astounding patience watching Nag Kath pass his hands above Celebrían’s body making her pale and cold. She showed no pulse or breath. Then he used his quill-knife to cut a deep incision in the back of her neck and pulled the flesh apart. The surgeon delicately probed the cut with the knife, searching until he hit something hard. Then he used the tweezers to extract a small, bloody object. It sizzled when he swished it in the basin revealing a gold coin. Nag Kath dropped both in the water commanding, “No one touches that!” That done; he passed his hands over the prostrate Lady again, slowly bringing her breath and color back. Inariel finished by applying healing on the wound which sealed almost instantly. 

It was only then Nag Kath turned to Elrond asking, “Did you see the black mist surrounding her?

“I did.”

“That was a remnant of Morgoth. I have removed it from others just as Sauron was removed from me. It was bound to that nipper.”

Inariel squeezed the tea out of her hair and smiled to let him know she was not seriously hurt. Elrond was supporting his bad arm with the good. Nag Kath nodded, “Sir, I should look at that.”

“First things first, Mr. Kath.”

Nag Kath asked the attendants to help him take their Lady to her bed. Elrond and Inariel followed. The changeling said to the worried husband, “She will sleep for a time.” He smiled at Inariel, “My dear, you were superb.” He kissed her red, sooty cheek. “I am a lucky fellow. And now, sir, that arm.”

Elrond felt his wife’s pulse with the good hand. He was still the senior healer in the room. Celebrían had gone from white to pale. The Lord removed his robe and pulled at his blouse with a wince. Nag Kath sliced the sleeve up to the shoulder and cut it away. The upper bone was broken but not coming through the skin. Elrond never saw his arm stretched and set but the Lord grimaced in pain and surprise. Nag Kath said as if it happened every day, “I will need to splint that.”

Inariel took charge, “Let me attend grandfather, husband. See to your other patient.”

Elrond allowed his grand-daughter to secure and sling his arm but he would not leave Celebrían’s bed. Nag Kath and Inariel then sat as well, allowing the lady’s maid to clip and brush the burns out of her hair. Elrond leaned back in the chair and said to the young couple, “Morgoth! Are you sure?”

Nag Kath brushed aside deep fatigue, “Sorry to say, this is familiar ground. A spirit of pure black. Sauron has a green tint. I should imagine in My Lady’s torment that cursed coin was placed in her neck. She moved away. Sauron was destroyed. The coin retained enough power to prey on her mind causing grief and confusion.” The changeling took his patient’s wrist and felt the pulse. “She will wake in another day.” More optimistically; “I cannot tell after long years of fear and doubt but, with luck and love, she may be herself again. I will need to test her in a few days.”

The girl-child looked at the maids, “When she wakes, My Lady will feel unclean both inside and out. I suggest a hot bath and a mild purge.”

By then, the house was alerted. Lindir sat by Elrond’s side. Nag Kath and Inariel stayed the afternoon but returned to the main house for dinner and sleep. He would be tired for a few days. Lord Elrond sat vigil holding his wife’s hand, willing it to wake. For six hundred years she had been lost in madness. If the changeling was right and she could return to him, he would be patient and hopeful.

At high-night, Lord Elrond of Harvién looked out to the moonlight and thought afar to Celebrían’s mother, Galadriel. She should come here. It was important. It was good. Please come.


	4. Restored

**_Chapter 4_ **

**_Restored_ **

Inariel and Nag Kath sat in one of the lovely side gardens waiting for the visitors to arrive. Celebrían was truly meeting her family for the first time in six centuries. A dozen riders cantered to the courtyard a quarter-bell before. Thinking that would be time enough to let the family say hello, the Kaths started climbing the stairs when a tall figure rounded into the garden and stopped. He had long white hair with no beard. It was not an Elf face though; unlined yet not at all young.

Nag Kath stared knowing he recognized something when the figure called, “Nag Kath, is it really you?”

The wizard grinned and came with open arms as his former student cried, “Gandalf, old friend! It is.”

“I wondered that you might make it here.”

The Elf drew away and said, “Gandalf, this is my wife, Inariel Telcontar.”

The Maia drew closer to her for a good look and said, “Yes, yes, I see them both.” Then to the couple, “Come, the others are already upstairs.”

There was no mistaking the four people standing in the main room. Two were warriors, lightly armored despite this land of peace. A robed Elf was nearly as tall as Nag Kath with silver hair and penetrating gray eyes. The fourth was a vision of grace with long blonde hair. As they approached, Gandalf, known as Ororïn here, deputized as host proclaiming, “Friends, allow me to introduce my old student Nag Kath and this lovely woman is Inariel. Inariel, these are your great grandparents and your uncles.”

Galadriel approached and put her hands on either side of Inariel’s face as Elrond had, saying, “I never saw this, not once. We must become great friends.” She smiled at Nag Kath knowing that story was coming. Celeborn and his grandsons gathered around moments later to greet them. 

Twin Elrohir rejoiced, “Father was right to send us these superb tidings!”

With gravity beyond her tender years, Inariel offered, “Thank you uncle, we are but a line in the pageant unfolding.” With that she cast her gaze up the stairs where Elrond was leading his Lady Wife, hand held high in the old-style. She was radiant and steady on her feet.

Elves would tell you they are never stunned, but the family and Orórin were slack-jawed nonetheless. They quickly gathered for a larger, longer scrum, leaving the wizards watching. The white one asked softly, “This is your doing?”

“Umhumm.”

Elrond stepped back to say; “Let us go to the reception room where some of your questions can be answered.” Galadriel glanced at Nag Kath more intensely. The party trooped down the hall where chairs had been arranged in something of a circle. The Lord and Lady of the house took the head and everyone else sorted themselves, still talking excitedly until Elrond cleared his throat loudly enough for attention. “Thank you all for coming so far so fast. There are two sets of tidings today, both good. I have asked Nag Kath to start since he has a hand in both.”

This was planned in advance to make order of such a volume of information. As he always did, the Elf started slowly and softly, “Thank you, My Lord. I suspect you all know something of me from Gandalf so I will be brief.”

Orórin interrupted, “And stories from Gimli as well!”

Nag Kath said mostly to himself, “Ah, dear Gimli, I wish he was here.” Then louder to the group, “I started life as one of Saruman’s Uruks and was changed to the form you see when the One Ring was destroyed. Better minds than mine are not sure how, but I also inherited some of Saruman’s sorcery. Gandalf saw that early on.”

Gandalf, Nag Kath would have to remember he was Orórin here, chuckled and added, “Aye, had to take a bit more orc out of him, and none too gently either.”

The Elf smiled at him saying, “We will come back to that in a minute my friend. Much of my time in Middle-earth has been spent finding and destroying remnants of the dark ones but I have also been a builder and mostly a healer. Not long ago, I was called to attend a woman in dire straits.”

Inariel continued, “That would be me. I developed Agar lhîw as grandfather described. With sorcery and Elvish medicine, Nag Kath was able to tilt the balance to mother’s side. It returned not long ago.” She smiled, “My coming here seems to have restored me and I am happy to meet all of you.”

Nag Kath beamed, “As luck would have it, we fell in love and have been together fourteen years.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen years.”

The group had not expected magic. Celeborn ventured, “Why did you come here now, child?”

Inariel replied, “With the change, the draw of the Undying Lands was killing me. We loved our home and families but I would not have survived another attack.”

Elrohir asked, “And your ship had no trouble with the shoals and tides?”

Nag Kath answered, “We saw rough seas for two weeks but then dead calm in heavy mist, as if waiting in judgment. I borrowed some of Middle-earth’s air to nudge us into the light of Alqualondë.”

Elrond took command, “A bit off-course, but all is well. They arrived here and I am very glad they did.” He looked at his wife who seemed serene even knowing how shocking her upcoming story would be. “After two days, I took them to meet Inariel’s grandmother. Celebrían became a terrible gray specter and threw a bolt of flame and power at us. Inariel and I were thrown to the back wall and singed along with Fillisha and Rohirie. I will let Nag Kath explain.”

The changeling looked at the relatives who were gaping again. “I protected myself with a warding spell. When My Lady’s power was spent, I hit her with the same enchantment Gandalf used on me all those many years ago. A second spell brought her nearly to death so I could remove a small coin planted in her neck that held the spirit of Morgoth.”

Elrond handed his son Elladan a small iron box holding the nipper along with a warning not to touch. Against the solemnity, Nag Kath smiled and concluded, “That is the bad news. The good news is, My Lady?”

Celebrían was tearing but did not cry, “Yes, the good news is that I am returned to you. It may be some time before I can put the doubts and fears from my mind, but I am … I am back with my family.” She managed to smile as well. 

Galadriel leaned back in her chair gripping the armrests. She was pleased but still softly murmured, “Morgoth!”

The changeling answered, “Yes ma’am. I removed almost identical specter from a woman in the kingdom of Thân zîrân. If Gimli told you the story of the mithril band, she was possessed the same way. Not eight years ago I did the same to a witch plotting against your great-grandson King Eldarion.”

Elrohir did not care for orcs, reconstructed or otherwise, and asked tersely, “Why did you take mother near to death?”

Nag Kath held his chin for that, “I believe that coin feeds on living flesh. I did not want it to restore itself, or kill her in defeat, so I took My Lady to the barest signs of life. When it was excised, she was restored to vitality and Inariel repaired the incision.”

Celeborn asked firmly, “Why did the coin attack?”

“It takes one to know one, sir. I showed My Lord Elrond some of the magic of Inara’s healing. Residue tends to linger about one for a time, that and I have fought Morgoth’s remnants before. It must have seen me as a threat and woke after long lurking to defend itself.”

Elrond had been waiting to know this since the attack, “Nag Kath, you said your powers are not strong and yet you swatted Morgoth like a gnat.” There were several present who wanted to know how that happened.

“It was just a residual spirit, a snare forgotten in the forest. The Dwarf ring was like that and Ar-Balkumagân’s stone held great power even after he was killed.”

Celeborn furrowed his brow in question, “Ar-Balkumagân, the King of Numenor? He was deposed by one of the faithful.”

“Aye, sir. He was your Witch-King of Angmar. A powerful sorcerer brought into Sauron’s service. Of all the wounds I have taken in my halting career, the only scars I still bear are where the shards of that rock exploded into my shins.”

The group talked until Elrond said with his trace of a smile, “We can discuss until we are famished. Let us take nourishment and continue afterwards.”

Inariel interrupted as everyone rose, “Grandfather, before dinner, Nag Kath and I would like to present gifts we have long held. I fear some of you will have to wait until after our meal.”

Grand-da smiled and nodded. Inara removed the white bag from Nag Kath’s satchel and unwrapped the circlet that sat under his stove. Handing it Galadriel she smiled, “I believe this belonged to your Aunt Írimë, My Lady.”

The Elvish Sorceress looked at the Princess for a few moments before examining the tiara. She found Orestë’s mark inside the band. It was the only thing that remained of Írimë after the massacre of Beleriand. She put it in her lap and closed her eyes barely saying, “Thank you, my child.”

Nag Kath pulled a twisted tan crystal out of his pocket and handed it to Orórin saying, “Radagast became one with his forests. I think he would have wanted you to have this.”

Gandalf silently accepted the staff-end, wishing it could light.

Not to be outdone, Inariel took a larger box from Nat Kath’s satchel and presented it to Lord Elrond saying, “We thought you might like this for your library. We could not read it, but it is very old.”

Elrond opened the case and froze. Nag Kath added, “The Elf-keepers thought it was a failed language for the Valar to talk to Elves. Not even Logass could make sense of it.”

The Lord lowered the case so the others could see. The older Elves and Gandalf were silent. Finally, Celeborn managed, “Children, where did you get this?”

The changeling answered cheerfully, “There were advantages of being the last in Middle-earth who could smell a troll-hoard.”

Questions lasted well into the evening. Finally Nag Kath said, “I can tell you, but showing is better. Will you let me share my story?”

Most heads nodded. The Elf slipped up to their quarters and brought back his large folio. It was less than an eighth of the former size but was still Nag Kath’s life history. He sat on the floor and took them through from the beginning. There was Gandalf trying to light the Eregion pipe-weed and Radagast, birds, lovers and wives, Gimli’s Cascade, secret lands and flowers. There were eastern retreats and men of those lands, not at all as the firstborn imagined them. Most he flipped through.

Nag Kath mentioned Orlo as leader of the resistance in Sauron’s lands but only as a dream in the cavern of ice. The Elf had a few riddles to solve first. Pictures of Inariel’s family amazed. His draft of Aragorn and Arwen was near the bottom of the sheaves. Inariel handed it to Lady Celebrían and said sweetly, “We would like you to have this, granna.”

The Lady of Harvién closed her eyes and nodded. Like Nag Kath after Angmar, her thoughts would benefit from fond memories.

After an hour's indulgence, everyone had a better understanding of the newest Quendu. Inariel sat by patiently. She had seen these before but the presentation varied with the audience. Inara liked watching the faces.

________________------_______________

The next day the senior Elves and Orórin met privately. Celeborn began gravely, “Tensions have risen greatly with Naitë Mélamar and Farnëmar in just the last year. Merchants have been harassed and some have not returned. Cirdan has the same tidings on the coast. The neutral gardhs remain so, but they are wary of their borders as well. Elrohir, can you share your news?”

The twin nodded and said, “Thank you grandfather. The rulers are inflaming their subjects against us, and any who are recently returned from Middle-earth. Those sentiments are strong in the armies and militias as well. Naitë secretly increases its permanent soldiery.”

Elrond surmised as much from travelers in this land as well. He looked at Gandalf, “You have different sources, old friend. What do your ears tell you?”

“I have heard the same, but have not been in the south for two years. May I suggest we sent our newest Elf Nag Kath to those places. He has a nose for mischief, especially magical mischief. I feel something, deep and fell. That wretched coin was a cold slap of caution!”

Elrond leaned back and thought a moment before saying, “He says his powers are weak, unformed. I suspect not.”

The wizard was more sanguine, “You suspect correctly. Nag Kath does not know what he can do. He is largely self-taught. There won’t be time for a lengthy education.”

None of the lords were comfortable. The changeling had given them a great gift in restoring her Ladyship, but he was fresh off the boat in a complex new land. They were even less comfortable with the mention of magic. Galadriel, perhaps the strongest sorceress of Elvendom, looked at him and agreed with reservations, “Yes, if you think that is wise. We will benefit from an unbiased view.”

Her concurrence was all the others needed. With a show of nods, she continued, “Orórin, please make the arrangements in your own fashion.” 

For the next few days family gathered around the restored Celebrían. About half included Inariel and her husband. That left opportunities for Gandalf and Nag Kath to talk about the latter’s checkered career. Gimli had spoken highly of the young Elf but had only heard a fraction of his deeds, mostly as they pertained to Gimli’s own extraordinary life. A few days after arriving, Galadriel joined them for a practical discussion of magic. Nag Kath described the difference in summoning powers but the end result in healing was similar. He used primarily wizard-sorcery because it was easier to focus and had more applications for the maladies of men like fevers and lung disorders. Orórin saw Elrond walk by and excused himself for a word, leaving the great Sorceress and new Elf alone for the first time. 

She probed gently, “You were there when Elrond spoke to me, yes?”

He was puzzled for a moment before saying, “No, but I felt it. Voice or meaning I could not tell. Were you speaking from afar?”

“Yes. I never used the stones.”

“Ah, I have stone stories of my own. We found one in Harad not six years ago. No one told me until I stumbled upon it." He brightened, “It was fortunate that Gandalf was able to hear and join us.” The tiniest shadow crossed her exquisite face. No one had really explained why Orórin was here for a family reunion. This was not the time or place to ask.

In different combinations, everyone met everyone according to their interests. One group was the Lord and Lady of the house, their sons and the Kath’s. Elrohir was reserved near the changeling but Elladan asked heartily, “Back to that nasty nipper, Nag Kath, it was placed in mother’s neck?”

“Aye, Elladan. That is where the dark ones mark their property.” He bowed low to show the little ‘six’ tattoo on the same place of his neck, the only trace of his former life.

Celebrian wondered, “Indeed, but I was taken long after Morgoth was banished.”

Elrond leaned in for this. He had the same question. Nag Kath expanded, “When the mithril band was dented some of his power escaped, passing to a very short list of those who could bear it. It kept some alive when the Witch-stone was smashed. I think the coin might have taken strength in the blast. Let us hope we never know.”

Elrohir ventured his first comment directly to the changeling, “We found mother in torment with grave and poisonous wounds. Rescue was a terrible fight with the loss of good Quendu, but in looking back, we should have died there. It was too easy.” He stared at Nag Kath, “Too easy.”

That got a true Elf-Lord comment by the newcomer, “Sauron tried to make her a traitor in your house. She moved beyond their influence. The dark ones were destroyed. The coin waited, preying on her mind and spirit, waiting for instruction, waiting for its banished master.” 

Elrond said with a tinge of regret, “And My Lady’s obvious wounds got all of my attention while I failed to notice the little one.”

“Do not think of yourself too meanly, My Lord. It is my habit to blunder in and stir the hornets for lack of a considered plan. I get lucky.” He turned to Celebrían, “Ma’am, both of the ladies I helped made full recoveries. There are treatments for ordering your thoughts, some of them learned after I was frozen. I would be glad to show you when you are ready.”

She looked at Elrond and they both agreed. Elrohir said gravely, “There is still that filthy coin. We have no Orodruin to melt it.”

His father reassured, “We will find a way, my son. Your grandmother will take it with her when she leaves.”

As the Elves went inside, Nag Kath took Gandalf to the Hobbit headstones and told him about the division-fruit seeds. They sat in the grass in silence for at least half a bell. The wizard finally said, “Take good care of Celebrían. Curing her ordeal will take time and understanding. What of your other healing Nag Kath?”

“I am not sure old friend. Pulling bog-fevers will not bring many coppers from the immortal. I am good with birthing, though Inariel is better.”

Gandalf/Orórin ventured, “When you are settled, you should travel south and see the great healers there. I will give you their names and lands.”

Nag Kath mulled that, “Settling must wait. Let me be sure Inariel does not relapse. Then I will travel. Are the lands below just like the ones above?”

The wizard said, “They are more alike than different. You will see in your own time, my friend.” 

Gandalf left in the morning without saying where he was going.

________________------_______________

Galadriel and Celeborn rode the next day with their escort for their ghard directly south of Elrond’s, some fifty leagues away. The Kaths got a standing invitation to visit. The twins stayed. They wanted to be close to their mother and had taken a shine to their baby niece. 

Inariel was blossoming. The Undying Lands were healing her ravaged body. She liked being an Elf. Inara explored the vast homely house with its nooks and hideaways, often returning to show her beloved. Lady Celebrían moved into Elrond’s quarters, not wanting to be reminded of the room where she spent hundreds of years in confusion. It worked its way into a conversation that perhaps the young couple should take the isolated space, needing sleep. When one of the household couples entered their joining, they seemed to need more sleep. 

Three weeks later was the Fête of Varda where the light of the sky was celebrated with song, poetry and more food than the fastidious Elves usually ate in one day. The Lord of Harvién was sitting by a small reflecting pool when he heard; “Grandfather, may I have a word?”

“Of course, child.” Elrond looked up to give Inariel his complete attention. “I thought you were with Nag Kath at the festival.”

“I sent him with Elladan. They seem to enjoy each other’s company.” The Princess felt a bit awkward, but needed to do this and had prepared. She sat next to him and started, “Grandfather, we have talked about much in our family, most of it new to me. But we have spoken little of your parents – your past ancestors, yes, but not your folks. Mother seldom did as well. Can you help me understand?”

The Elf Lord was not concerned, “No secrets my dear. I’m afraid that is because very little is known. My brother and I were very small when we were captured and sundered from our parents. I think I remember her …” he smiled his wry smile, “ … but it may only be my mind replacing darkness with light.

“I know more than I did before I arrived on these shores, but not much. For five years I traveled, sought counsel and lore in the corners of Aman. The boys still search. Try as I may, I was not granted an audience with the Valar. Ororin knew some and told me, but my parents are still a mystery.

“The legend is that father Eärendil sailed here to implore all available help in the War of Wrath that eventually imprisoned Morgoth, creating great slaughter and destruction in the Elvish realms of old. As a man denied Aman, he would have been slain but for having done this to benefit others. After great deeds in battle and destroying a terrible dragon, he returned here with mother Elwing. His ship was created a vessel of heaven and he bears the last Simaril on his brow as the Evening-Star.” He smiled again, “Your mother’s name.”

Inariel knew all of that and probed, “And since? Did you find your parents?”

“No. I have not yet seen them. It is told that mother lives in a tower and becomes a swan to fly to her husband when his journeys bring him close to us. I have not found it or tell of where it might be. 

Elrond became more practical, “We must also consider that these legends try to explain that which we cannot understand. Like your amusing husband, I cannot imagine sailing the skies with a lamp on my forehead, no food, no company, not even a goblet of wine to while the time. I think that when great heroes are consigned to these labors, time stops for them, else they freeze in cold emptiness. He is said to guard The Door of Night against defeated foes. I pray the Valar might return them to us if they are not already beyond our ken. They may also be the barest immortal spirit kept alive with the Valars’ grace. I have not found my grandparents Tuor and Idril either.”

Inariel was quiet for a long moment, “Grandfather, dear grandfather, does Nag Kath threaten the order that protects the people of this blessed land?”

It was time to bring the young couple into service. “Yes, and no. The order you see is an uncomfortable balance, a fragile balance. He is a disruptive force. That is a weapon in the arsenal. There are others, but he is the only one of his kind. His heart is wholesome, but not entirely free of the destruction to which older Elves think themselves immune. Blackness is not yet purged in this land. Much may be asked of us.”

Inara said gravely; “He said as much.” Her sweet smile broke through thinking of the changeling. He sought purpose in life. It sought him.

Elrond put his hands on his knees to rise, “Good. I cannot help but think there are players yet to appear in this pageant. Let us agree to tell each other what we find about the lost Elves of our past. They may yet be out there.”

Both smiled and walked to watch workers erect the little tents for the fête.

The youngsters stayed close to Harvién for the next three months. Her strength improved well past her original transformation. They celebrated anonymously by staying in the little inn where they got directions to Harvién for dinner and cup of wine.

________________------_______________

With Inara mended, The Elf considered Gandalf’s suggestion to meet the great healers. He had already spent considerable time with Elrond gaining insight into the subtleties of medicine. His style had always been to plow into emergencies with force. The Lord used the slightest touch and herbs. They discussed Frodo’s wound and battlefield injuries. There was always more to learn.

As spring beckoned, Nag Kath started fishing with Elladan, though the warrior was more of a hunter. Nag Kath would shoot with him but not at animals. One afternoon trying to outsmart fish, the changeling told him of Gandalf’s (Elladan thought of him as Gandalf too) suggestion to visit other noted healers below them. The Quendu replied, “Yes, those are respected names, along with father’s. Elrohir and I traveled quite a bit when we made land. Remember that folk who are more recently arrived are not always esteemed in the disaffected gardhs.”

Nag Kath teased, “And here I thought everyone was the same.”

Elladan took him seriously, “No, when our peoples came for the summoning informs a great deal. Some returned and stayed. They largely live west of the Pelori. There are those who tried to return but could not. Father is of several lines, plus men and Maiar." The young Lord grinned, “The least favored were the Ñoldorin who returned to Middle-earth to reclaim the stolen Silmarils causing great bloodshed among their kin. Though she did not bear arms, Grandmother was only just pardoned by the Valar for her service in the Ring War.”

**_GANDALF; YOU OLD TRICKSTER!!_ **

Nag Kath realized he had been set-up as surely as when Tal connived his introduction to Florice. Wizard or otherwise, the old Maia cleaned messes for the Valar. In his less exalted way, that described Nag Kath’s job in Middle-earth. The old boy told him in Orthanc that a wizard is always exactly where he intends to be. So how did he happen to be on the short road between Galadriel and Elrond and neither of them knew? One thing was certain; he wasn’t sending Nag Kath south to pull rotten teeth. Gandalf saw potential and pressed him into service again. No, to be fair, he encouraged it. Same thing. 

The newest Quendu should have figured this out long before. Those who were here for thousands of years were not waiting for interlopers to share their land any more than the Thains tended gardens for Easterlings. The last and most powerful surviving Elvish lords of Middle-earth arrived little more than a century ago, a blink to these people.

Gently pressed, Elladan explained when Galadriel returned with her battle-hardened troops after defending Lorien from orcs, they joined Celeborn’s retainers and soon settled unoccupied lands to their west that most closely resembled their home in Calas Galadorn. Meliath, ruler of Naitë Mélamar, mobilized his much larger but untested militias to push them back into the mountains and got thrashed for his pains.

Elladan’s skill was in and he pulled several large trout. When he rose to go, Nag Kath said he wanted to stay a while longer and meditate. The changeling put his chin on his knees and watched him leave. Yes, it was all becoming clearer. He had gone from knowing almost nothing in Middle-earth to knowing more than anyone. He had to start again. 

Later, Nag Kath told Inariel what he learned and what he guessed. She was very quiet before kissing him gently and saying, “You will not charge off unprepared, my warrior knight. Let us learn what we can. Do these lords do more than complain?”

“Elladan said not often, but they are noisier lately. Perhaps that is Gandalf’s interest. He would not bother if all they did was insult each other’s parents. That is a touchy subject hereabouts. I will see if there are any maps or histories newer than the Second Age.”

Nag Kath looked in the library and asked many questions of the resident scholar. There were no maps but the Lorist was able to draw his own from reliable accounts. It was time to ask Elrond. 

The Lord listened to the changeling’s observations and gave his grandson-in-law a knowing gaze. “I think you are correct. It is not the habit of Elves to spy on one another but we hear from merchants that both Farnëmar and Naitë Mélamar are increasingly hostile to recent arrivals, and those who helped us.” 

Nag Kath asked, “Forgive me, but, why? There is more than enough land.”

Elrond allowed himself a grim smile, “It is not about the land. It is about pedigree. Everyone here has something over the others, usually amounting to little. Lindareth of Farnëmar was of the Ñoldor who did not leave in the Doom. He thought to claim lordship until King Finarfin’s return. Having lost, he and his adherents took lands below where Galadriel and Celeborn are now. Finarfin is Galadriel’s father. 

“Naitë Mélamar splintered from the Teleri in Alqualondë when Finarfin was pardoned. The two southern gardhs, they would tell you realms, do not like each other very much, but politics makes for strange bedfellows.”

The changeling tossed a serious question on the table, “What are their military dispositions, particularly along the borders?”

The great Elvish general saw a kindred soldier and was forthcoming, “Fair to good. Traders have seen militias training. They have far more ohtars than my little gardh and Galadriel and Celeborn’s combined. Thranduil to the south still has an army, but he is not threatened.”

“Is it time to worry, sir?”

Elrond nodded, “Yes.”

Nag Kath finished with, “I will speak with Inariel. She is wise beyond her years. If it is right that I should go, I need to know everything, right down to what they eat on their porridge.”

_____________--------____________

Inariel teased, “Perhaps I should have sent you packing with A’mash.” When he didn’t notice, she sat next to him and asked gently, “Must you leave?”

Nag Kath snapped from his reverie and smiled, “So it seems. Like the Woodland Realm, you earn your keep here. I cannot read these people like back home, but I think your family was party to Gandalf’s sleight-of-hand. Elrond is worried. There is sorcery in the air.” Softly; “I suppose I knew that. There are not a lot of unknown wizards for hire in these lands.” He chuckled without humor, “I wish I wasn’t so expendable. The situation is tailor-made for me.”

Inariel leaned her head on his shoulder, “Speaking of tailors, you will need to look the part.”

“Yes! Elvish elements at last. I’ll need something for high councils and the rest modest wear. An itinerant healer is a good disguise and itinerant portraitist at need. Shultö is too handsome a horse for my station, but I may need his speed.”

She pressed, “When?”

“Several weeks at least. First I need to know where these places are and who runs them, and if we have any friends. Elves make terrible spies. Legolas referred me to a healer who was actually Lebennin’s quiet-man. I will only approach these two healers after observation.”

Inariel wondered, “Will you go alone?”

“Have to … can’t have exiled lordlings hanging about while I try to look humble. I do wish I could take Elladan. He would be tough in a scrap and knows the path.”

The first part of Nag Kath’s preparation was a visit to the firewood stack. After some rooting he found a stout oak fence rail and hacked it into a serviceable practice sword. 

His next trip was to the library. There were no current maps. When everyone is four millennia old, they know the way. Grudgingly forgiven for his ignorance, the archivist helped him rough a map showing the rivers of southern Eldamar and the borders of the different gardhs along with their rulers. The place was huge. From here to Thranduil’s northern border was fully two hundred leagues, the same distance as here from Alqualondë. Roads were graded and rivers bridged to shame Middle-earth, but Nag Kath was still on a horse and the good ones go as far and as fast in either land. 

The history and personalities were no less confusing than when Gandalf tried to explain this in Orthanc. In modern Aman, the changeling winnowed the confusing array of firstborn into his own three categories; those who originally answered the call to live here and object to newcomers, the newcomers themselves and those who don’t care. The recent arrivals, like Elves of every age in Middle-earth, built their strongholds in the mountain forests. Those less-desired lands were maintained in their lords’ absence by retainers for thousands of years. In the main, the most civilized Elves were west of the massive mountain chain that divided the crescent-shaped continent. Those of the northeast had been warlike but were now at peace. The southeast was now the region of malcontent. 

Elrond’s neighbor to the east was in the neutral camp and had no trouble with the learned Lord settling the foothills. Galadriel’s parents were the Ñoldorin Lords of Tirion but she came here to live with Celeborn’s Sindars. Their fief was five times the size of Elrond’s. Arriving en masse, her people took loosely-claimed lands to their northeast along the Rainduin (Wandering) River. Deciding that was not in his interests, Meliath of Naitë Mélamar to the east tried to enforce his own feeble claims by mobilizing his militias to push them back to the mountains. He didn’t notice the new citizens were Galadriel’s army, freshly off successfully defending Lorien from the orcs of Dol Goldur. The Quenda’s ohtars quickly reformed and dealt Meliath a humiliating, if not especially bloody, lesson on keeping one’s forces sharp before Celeborn even arrived from Middle-earth.

The most curious place on the map was the area separating Meliath’s and Celeborn’s southern borders. It was also unclaimed, after a fashion. A gardh the size of Galadriel and Celeborn’s had been governed by a noble family who fought and died-out thousands of years before. Folk living there did not see the need to replace them. They generally disliked Meliath and spurned his overtures to join his attack, which only smeared salt in Meliath’s wounded pride.

Moving south, the land of Farnëmar below the Randuin was ruled by Lindareth, the Ñoldor who did not leave to avenge the Silmaril jewels of infamy. He was a conservative, fastidious Elf of the Light but until lately had not been as vitriolic as the vulgar Meliath. He also might owe some allegiance to Galadriel’s parents as ostensible Lords of the Ñoldorin, but they had disagreed and Lindareth moved south. This far from Tirion, he looked to his realm first.

The river below Lindareth was the northern border of Thranduil. Those lands had also been under the stewardship of retainers as his people sailed over to a more southerly port in the Third Age. He arrived with the bulk of his army. They liked being isolated and no one contested his assumption of lordship so far south of the only gap to the west where the Valar and Vanyar Elves lived. His neutral neighbor along the coast had no interest in the foothills. They got along well.

Nag Kath thought was most interesting fief was at the mouth where the Randuin and Athradduin rivers formed one of the few natural harbors on these smooth coasts. A settlement like Mithlond was governed by Cirdan, the great mariner Elf. He had another above Alqualondë and was welcome most places. Cirdan was one of the oldest and wisest Elves in the world. That said; Meliath and Lindareth could not forgive him for importing all these pestilential refugees from the swamps of Middle-earth.


	5. Into the Maw

_**Chapter 5** _

_**Into the Maw** _

The two breakaway southern gardhs had drifted from their brethren. The firstborn sought harmony. There was a common purpose and long lives spent in contemplation of those goals informed every aspect of daily life. Since the arrival of the last Middle-earth Elves after the ring war, both rulers became more insular, more isolated, less understanding. 

Gathering information would not be as easy as in Middle-earth. Elves are too noble to be good spies. What little tidings they had of the southern realms came from occasional merchants either working the North/South road along the foothills or bringing things in from the ports. The conservative Caliquendi (light Elves who heeded the original call to Valinor) had not attended any of the regional councils that included Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn or Thranduil in a century. 

Nag Kath knew little of that, but he did know his usual habit of loitering and looking dim would be harder. Elves seldom travel alone. Usually they are in groups of ten or better, all related, all with the same purpose. 

Lodgings are designed around that, though many Elves sleep outside in clement weather. In Middle-earth, innkeepers work for themselves. They had to pay their taxes and bribes, but it was their business and they ran it how they like. As long as guests pay and don’t throw people out the windows, who and what you are doesn’t matter. The same went for those providing food and goods and fodder. 

In Aman, there were inns in the big cities but in most places, citizens were expected to take rare single travelers or small companies in under a code of hospitality for a night. Not all Elves liked other Elves or, even if they did, their lords might not. In some way, just about everyone reported to those above them. It seemed tawdry to say Elves gossip, but it would be difficult for Nag Kath to stay anonymous and buy useful facts with tavern ale ... or roasted pigs. He was a traveling healer or artist, depending on the need, and did not obviously represent the interests of the mighty if anyone inquired. It helped that he didn’t look particularly of one clan or another. The healer did take the liberty of dying patches on his handsome horse to make him look scabby.

The day before they left, Elrond gave Nag Kath grave advice, “You did not bring this doom with you ... and you take this errand upon yourself with poor explanations why. Please, discover what you can and return home safely to your lovely wife. I cannot hope to aid you if the conservatives become more hostile.” The Elf Lord smiled, “If Gandalf should wander by; I will give him a piece of my mind for starting this business.”

Nag Kath considered that before saying, “I hope not too rough on him, sir. I need to ask, do you have any known informants in your household?”

“Not known.” The Lord of Harvién raised his magnificent brow, “Are you concerned?”

The changeling shook his head, “Just practical. If they have reported me, being ordered to far lands as a traveling healer suggests I am not greatly esteemed here. That might loosen tongues hoping to bring me to their service.” He grinned, "That or I'm a spy myself and it will be a short trip."

Elrond put his hand on his grandson-in-law’s shoulder, “Use that only at need and return to us for more of your entertaining stories.”

The plan was for Nag Kath and Inariel to travel to Galadriel and Celeborn’s land of Penethornost, a hundred and thirty miles south of Elrond’s homely house in Harvién. Elladan led a dozen cavalry, one ohtar a little taller than the rest. When they rode home, no one would notice they were a trooper light.

Thornost, for short, had deep groves of Mellryn trees with Telain platforms much like Lorien but also conventional buildings for the agrarian society of the lower Eldamar. The Kath’s education intensified. Soldiers who fought Meliath’s troops explained how they formed and attacked. Nag Kath got names of under-lords and known agitators there and to the south. Galadriel spent time with him going over magic, if necessary. Morgoth, even as a fleeting holdover, had her thinking deeply about what was left of sorcery in these lands. They walked off privately and he showed her some of his talents. ‘The fast’ was a revelation. Galadriel also worked with him on far-speaking. She had never used the Palantiri. Hers was a different humor, more focused and precise for single minds. 

Elladan and his troop rode home two weeks later. Inariel stayed with her great granna and granda to wait for her warrior's return. To their experience, she was still a child in wide-eyed wonder at the things around her. The Princess would be a proper little She-Elf when her husband rode back from his doctor rounds. The traveling healer/artist left the day after Elladan. He carried inexpensive objects from stable northern realms to suggest he had been there. That wasn’t a precaution against thievery – just to make him as vague and unimportant as possible. 

The lands of Thornost stretched another one hundred thirty miles south where he was warmly greeted and housed by kindly folk very much as men thought of Elves. At the southern border he reached the forks of the Athradduin. There were three main tributaries and all were bridged in fine, arched stone. If Elves lived in those highlands, he did not see them. The last bridge put him in the realm of Farnëmar and Lord Lindareth. It was undefended on either side. There had never been entrenched military positions.

From there he turned sharply to the east and followed the river to the capital Raniegal, fully a hundred miles away. Keeping on the northern bank would have been safer, but he was here to understand the danger, not avoid it. 

In Farnëmar Nag Kath slept outdoors. The weather was fair but when dark clouds rolled over the mountains, he put the tradition of courtesy to the test. Beating the rain to a farm, he asked if he could stay in their barn for the night. The folk were quite friendly. Our Elf was welcomed and could join them for the late meal. He accepted and had dinner with Zenatiur, his wife, a son and his wife. Zenatiur broke his thumb a few years before but pulled and splinted it himself. Nag Kath, using his real name, explained that was why he was also an artist and drew their pictures to thank them for accommodations.

No alcohol was served and using it to pump Elves for information was ineffective anyway – although a few drank to excess. Nag Kath did say he was heading for the capital to meet the esteemed healer Corindelam and asked if they had been there. The son’s wife visited only two hundred years ago for a wedding. Varien explained the road was as fair as he had traveled thus far. Asked about the hospitality, her husband made a face and said, “The city folk are not as cordial, but you will be welcome all the way there.”

Rather than leave in the morning, Nag Kath said, “I see you are planting arthain. I will stay to help in thanks for your courtesy.” A very Elvish offer.

Zenatiur replied heartily, “It would be proper to refuse, but that is a difficult crop so we accept! Come, let me introduce you to our community.”

This village was much like Emyn Vierald where everyone worked the large plots and had smaller gardens surrounding family homes. Arthain is a vegetable that does not grow well from seed in the field so sprouts are started in small peat cups until they are four to six inches high and transplanted in rows that need frequent watering. The taste and nutrition is worth the effort, but planting the little beggars is a hard day’s work. The village of twenty-one souls was glad of an extra hand and hastily arranged an early supper for the tired workers after putting two acres in arthain interspersed with its sister crop califo.

Farmer Ignautir heaped another spoon on the visitor’s plate and asked, “You are traveling through to Raniegal?”

“Yes, I am going to meet a fellow healer. I was told we might benefit from each other’s ideas. This is the first time I have been this far south and may visit Lord Thranduil’s realm as well”

From across the table, a Quenda said, “I have seen Raniegal but never been to Thranduil’s lands.”

Nag Kath smiled, “Farther than me, ma'am.” It was time to do a little fishing, “The same healer in the north said that a woman of Middle-earth with skills in child-birth came with Lord Thranduil. I hope to meet her.”

Ignautir considered that and cautioned, “I have never been there either. Your reception might be different in those two places.”

The healer was self-deprecating; “My reception usually depends on who is hurt. Are these southern lands so different?”

“Yes, our Lord Lindareth is not enamored of those who have crossed to escape Ennor (Middle-earth) with their mannish notions and customs.”

Nag Kath did not play the timid youngster this time, “Well, those who cure do not often move in lordly company. I hope my visiting will not cause alarm.”

Ignautir’s wife cheered him, “Go to both and see. You seem a stout traveler. How will you return to Alqualondë?”

That was encouraging. Nag Kath hadn’t said where he started. If he appeared to be from north of Eldamar, so much the better. What they noticed in the cities might be another matter. “I am not yet sure. Either I will take passage with a ship of Lord Cirdan or ride through Naitë Mélamar into Penethornost.”

Out here in the hinterland, these folks had no strong opinions on those who had come in the last thousand years, or even in the last two hundred. His host Zenatiur chortled from across the table, “Now there is a pairing! I heard Lady Galadriel’s contingent explained their claims most forcefully!”

His wife scowled and tried to mitigate the unvarnished statement with, “You must excuse Zenatiur, Nag Kath. There was violence when her people came to the mountain havens.”

Nag Kath replied, “I heard something of that above but people there did not mention it. One farmer said that if I was in Lord Meliath’s realm during militia season, I might be pressed into training. That was why I was thinking about the sea since I have long experience on the waves.” Sailing wasn't something the inland newcomers did, except getting here.

A farmer he hadn’t met volunteered, “Come, friends, here we are frightening a fine fellow who has helped us plant the beastly arthain!” He raised a cup of their pale red wine and called, “To those who serve, be they honored and blessed by those of good cheer!”

_______________------______________

Nag Kath took his time following the Arthradduin River. After three days heading east, he was still well upstream of flood-plains. The land looked fertile. Farms were scattered and depended more on who wanted to live there than whether it would support them. On horse he overtook foot travelers and camped with a few or with those coming the other way. The closer he got to the capital, the more anti-immigrant their conversations became. Elladan taught Nag Kath some Teleri slang to slip into his banter suggesting he had nothing to do with the disdained Ñoldorin silmaril-chasers. From here-in he used his alias.

The capital Raniegal was home to about nine thousand folk, in and outside the modest walls. Far be it for a yokel from Middle-earth to criticize, but these fortifications would not stop a bull in rut. They were either built before, or in contempt of, modern artillery. There had never been an honest war in these parts. Nag Kath found that reassuring. Many elements were similar to Tirion. The main gates were open for a constant stream of walkers and small wagons. Just inside, a half-troop of regular cavalry trotted up and he veered out of their way. The Corporal, he thought, gave him a long look, but he might have been admiring Shultö.

Raniegal was large enough to have real inns. First he had to find the healer Corindelam. Nag Kath knew the address but in Elvish places, there are no house numbers and the streets are only marked if there is a memorial. Townsfolk showed the limping Quendu the modest home and he took a room nearby after stabling the horse a block away.

This was territory unknown. Part of his choice of lodging was that there was a restaurant four doors up the modest hill from the healer on the other side of the street. Two long, slow meals suggested the physician was exactly that. A woman left early to do the shopping. A fellow with what looked like a broken wrist arrived just before lunchtime with his wife. After they went home, another woman left with a satchel. He thought she might be the healer. Gandalf hadn’t said much about him or her, or anything else, before Nag Kath had real questions.

The next morning after the cook left with her shopping basket, the Elf knocked on the door. An attractive Quenda answered and assessed him for injury. Most people who came here were hurt or came on behalf of someone who could not make the trip. He wasn’t bleeding so she asked, “How can I help you sir?”

“A friend recommended I introduce myself to the healer Corindelam. My name is Solvanth.” 

In this trusting society, that was enough to be offered a seat with tea to follow. He took both. When she returned, she asked again, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I am a healer also. This is a letter of reference.” 

Nag Kath handed her Gandalf’s sealed packet. Her face betrayed nothing as she read it carefully and exchanged it on the side table for her mug saying, “Your friend the traveler says you are skilled in the cures of wounds and also ailments of men in your former lands.”

“Yes, though there is not much call for the latter here. I have worked with head and back injuries with considerable experience drawing poisons.” He tossed-in the last deliberately using the word ‘drawing’. It might not mean the same in Sindarin here as Sindarin in the land of poisons, but drawing implied pulling something out with sorcery. She called Orórin the traveler. She didn’t seem worried about whatever the wizard called him.

Corindelam looked at him with a combination of curiosity and concern as she dropped the message in the fire. He was obviously of those who were here recently and he was very young. The woman had another sip and ventured, “Solvanth, were you aware that the Lord of this land discourages visitors from the east?”

“Bits and pieces, but the wise traveler suggested I come and I am not of such consequence that the lordly take much interest.” What mattered to him was if the healer did something other than heal or had political interests opposed to Lord Lindareth.

That was a murky area. Long ago, disagreements between Elf nobles could lead to great slaughter. Everyone else did what was expected of them. She considered the humble healer’s reasons and sighed, “We must not make too much of things. Did Mithran tell you of me?”

Mithran, short for Mithrandir? Even his true name might not address what he really was. Nag Kath answered, “No ma’am, only that we might benefit.”

“Very well. I am of the school of Falagierin; studied in herbs and humors of the nerves.” She had the last of her tea and added, “You must have been in rougher places than me if you are familiar with poisons, young Quendu. What did you hope to gain from the exchange.”

He admitted, “Some of the roughest places. I am always looking to improve the aid I can render.”

“Very well. I am busy today. Come back tomorrow at this time and we will consider our craft.”

On the way back to his inn he thought there would be little benefit. She had shown no sign of being anything but a healer. Nag Kath would be earnest and on time, even if it was only for a few hours of things he already knew. In the meantime, he strolled by the cavalry quarters. Whatever real trouble could be expected from the Lords of Farnëmar would start with the horse soldiers.

A disadvantage of observing these people was that there were no slovenly troops. In all but crack regiments across the sea, there would be a plump, older fellow who spent his day hoping he would not have to do anything strenuous, perhaps in need of a few coppers to indulge a taste for the grape. Not this lot. These were Lindareth’s professional soldiers. At Elladan’s excellent suggestion, Nag Kath swapped his riding boots for farm boots to walk around the paddock and watch the troopers go about their daily business. There was no sign they were mobilizing or even in a hurry. A soldier’s blood gets up when they know something is brewing and these lads seemed unconcerned.

That night was uneventful so he reported to the healer’s house the next morning and was admitted by the servant. Corindelam showed him into her healing room. She wasn’t expecting much either but when he described inductive bone-knitting, he had her full attention. Nag Kath also described aligning the back bones after a break that would normally be fatal. She knew a few tricks too and it was nearly lunchtime (by Hobbit reckoning) before a sharp knock on the door broke their concentration. The maid/cook opened the healing room door and told her mistress, “Ma’am, an ohtar of the palace needs a word.”

Corindelam told her to show the messenger in. A few moments later, a palace guard entered and said rather stiffly, “Healer Corindelam, one of our company has broken his leg inside the exalted compound and we ask you to attend.”

She nodded and put a few things in a large carpetbag sitting by the door. Solvanth gathered his satchel and invited himself to follow the guard past more of his kind inside an interior walled keep well up the hill. The palace proper was directly ahead but the guide veered off to the right and took them to a stone bench by a garden where a guard was laying trying to manage the pain.

The healer sat beside the soldier on the bench, confirmed where the break was and cut his pant leg up to the crotch to peel it away from the leg. Then she gave Nag Kath her shears to remove the trooper’s riding boot as carefully as possible. The fellow’s horse spooked and tossed him, breaking the upper leg in two places. The bones had not come through the flesh but they were not aligned.

She stood and said, “Dr. Solvanth, your opinion please.”

He confirmed exactly what she had. It was also his practiced opinion that bones are easier to set when the patient doesn’t know what’s coming. In a blink, the man’s leg was yanked straight and eased back into place against a hiss through clenched teeth. Nag Kath made sure the bones were fitted and applied a knitting and pain spell above and below the area with hints of silver. 

Corindelam took his place and felt the thigh. She could not know the break was already partially fused but she could tell the bones were aligned. The healer wrapped a splint taken from her bag while Nag Kath held the injured leg up to wind the swaddling. Twenty minutes later they were done, except to tell the ohtar and his friends that he should not walk on that for a week and then with a crutch for another. A man would take two months, bare minimum, and would limp for life. She would return in three days to check his progress.

As the healers gathered their things and returned to town, an Elf who had been watching from the stairs called the ohtar who collected them and asked a few questions. Then he walked up to the palace.

______________-------______________

It did not take long. At dawn, a pair of what Nag Kath called “quiet-men” instructed the innkeeper to fetch the healer. He came down hastily dressed with his satchel thinking it might be another injury. What he got was an officious guardi, “Healer Solvanth, you are here from unblessed lands against Lord Lindareth’s pleasure! You will come with us.”

He slung his satchel over his shoulder and followed them on the same route he had taken to heal the leg. That they knew his alias meant they had already bearded Corindelam since he hadn’t used either Solvanth or Kath at the inn. The quiet-men took him up the palace steps and down a corridor until they turned into what would be a throne-room in a kingdom. There they stood at attention while the ruler of Farnëmar spoke with several counselors. He was a lordly lord, tall and grim, immaculately dressed in what Nag Kath understood was ancient Ñoldorin finery on a raised dais in an ornate chair. The Lord paid no attention to the new arrivals. The fellow who questioned the ohtar was standing two courtiers to Lindareth’s right. Their discussion finished, the ruler turned his attention to the wayward healer.

The second advisor took a step forward and announced stridently, “You are here without our Lord’s leave from tainted lands. Why?!”

It was hard to tell among such august physical specimens, but in the world of men, this would be the Worm Tongue. Unimpressed, Nag Kath drawled, “Ignorance, mostly. Who wants to know?”

Minister Rohier was not used to being addressed thusly. He stiffened and replied caustically, “We will ask the questions here. You claim to be a healer. What could a revered person such as Corindelam possibly hope to learn from a footloose youngster like you?”

Nag Kath was still not sure how these people would tell he was a babe. “I have experience in bone and head injuries as well as …” He was about to say poison but thought that was too close to sorcery. If these lads learned his sorcery, they would learn the hard way. He ended with, “… shocks to the spine causing mental disorder.”

Rohier was about to disdain that when his lord responded softly, “Come forward.” Nag Kath did with his guards behind him and gave another, better bow. Lord Lindareth looked at the tall healer in his farmer boots and added, “It is the law of my land that those who are from Middle-earth or the renegade gardhs must declare themselves to the proper authorities.”

Nag Kath replied, “Then I apologize and hope to make amends, Your Lordship.”

“You say you have experience with injuries that cause mental distress?”

Interesting he said ‘distress’ rather than ‘disorder’. If this Lord had a strong enough interest to let his henchman chew his tongue after the insult, Nag Kath would be at his most useful. “Yes sir. A blow or twist to the head or back can cause someone to lose memories or place them in the wrong order. I can sometimes help such patients.”

Lord Lindareth scowled, “Sometimes?! You make claims, do nothing and say it is beyond your skills?”

“I never make claims and or offer opinions until I have seen the patient.” In other words; let me see your hole-cards, ancient Lindareth of south Eldamar. Rousting vagabond healers was not a good way to display lordship. Nag Kath has already calculated the steps to take his head with the side-guard’s sword if this went badly.

Lindareth had a problem. His brother Vantieth was Lord Counselor. He should be returning from talking to his opposite-number in Naitë Mélamar shortly. Vantieth’s young son had been a sweet, loving child four months ago. Now he was listless and taciturn. None of the local healers, including Corindelam, had been able to do anything for him. His mind was disturbed suddenly and drastically. If this roughshod herbalist offered straws, he must clutch them. 

Lindareth rose and walked past the healer saying, “Follow me.” A hand gesture to the others cut his retinue to two liveried guards. They walked further down the original corridor to another that was equally ornate. From there, the ruler of Farnëmar opened a door to luxurious quarters and walked to the main room. A governess was instantly on her feet and bowing but a lad sitting with her on the carpet paid no attention. His Lordship said, “Harm one hair on his head and yours leaves your shoulders.” The Quenda joined her Lord and they were gone. 

Nag Kath observed the child absorbed with a small wooden horse. He was about ten, the equivalent of eight in mannish mental growth. 

The changeling sat cross-legged six feet away and was completely ignored. Finally he offered, “My horse is tan but I see yours is gray.”

The child continued prancing his steed on the fine rug without looking up. After another minute, Nag Kath added, “Of course, the brown horses are faster.”

That got the child’s attention. He looked at the traveling healer with the same distant gaze Durnalath had when she was under Lostorin poisoning. To the untrained observer it might seem weak eyes, but this was confusion behind them. The child said, “My father has a black horse and those are fastest of all.”

“Your father must be very grand to have such a handsome mount.”

The boy considered that, had no response and went back to playing. Nag Kath prompted, “What is the name of your horse?”

The child held the wooden toy up to examine. He knew it once but could not remember so he said, “He has no name.”

The very image of avuncular concern, Nag Kath offered constructively, “Well, that will never do.”

The boy looked back at Nag Kath. With every fiber of his being he wanted to say his toy horse's name, but nothing would come. It was locked inside. The Elf needed to touch him so he cajoled, “Perhaps if you give me your horse for a moment, I can think of a name your lord father would favor.”

At the mention of his beloved da, the child offered the little gray horse to the stranger. Missing his reach, Nag Kath gently grasped the wrist and was stunned as badly as with the Princess of Thân zîrân. The boy was infected by darkness. Fortunately, he did not see the healer recoil. Since the stranger did not take the toy, the lad resumed trotting it back and forth, trying to hum a nursery poem. 

The faintest beam of yellow light hit the lad’s face and he looked up reluctantly. Nag Kath asked gently, “When do your lord father and his black horse return home?”

The boy said succinctly, “Soon.”

“Who does he visit?”

“Selvas of Naitë.”

The Elf quickly stole through the empty apartments looking for useful items and feeling for sorcery. Finding none, he crept to the kitchen and emptied a small envelope into a demi-cask of fine red wine set aside for Vantieth’s personal use. Lastly he applied a strong clarity spell to the child, more than enough to offset the confusion and make him responsive for a few days. Nag Kath showed himself out and told the guard he would be back in three days. No one followed him back to the inn. 

He would not bother Corin again. She was under enough strain already. She hadn’t announced she was Gandalf’s agent or where to find any other luckless wizard-helpers either. There would be no curing the boy. Taking that spirit from him would alert the wrong people. It made him sad, innocent Helien yet again. One thing was certain, dark lords were not besetting children. The lad had gotten that accidentally from proximity to someone deeply in thrall. Nag Kath hoped Vantieth enjoyed the sweet wine.

_____________-------____________

Not only did Lord Vantieth ride a black horse, a full company of his outriders did too. Four days later they clattered up the cobblestones to the palace with people getting quickly out of their way. It was late. An attendant from the main palace arrived at his quarters shortly after with a cart of hot foods and was allowed in by the nanny. The attendant served his lordship at the dining table. After a while there was a series of irregular knocks on the office door.

“Enter.”

The Worm-Tongued Minister Rohier oiled, “Welcome back, My Lord. How was your trip?”

Vantieth nodded to dismiss the server. “Things are falling into place. Our friends are better prepared in Naitë Mélamar. Selvas has a helper now, an astrologer. How are our efforts?”

“The soldiers train in secret. Your Lord Brother approves and lets me manage the details, as you said he would. One who spoke against antagonizing the unblessed was shown the error of his ways.” 

“Good. We will discuss this tomorrow. Now, how is Edelmath?”

“A bit better, sir. A traveling healer was able to make him more attentive, though it has worn thin. Your Lord Brother had him examine your son. He was from disdained lands and no longer plagues our home.”

“Very well, pour me wine and bring my son to me.”

Rohier left and was shortly replaced by the nanny leading young Edelmath by the hand. The child saw his father and ran to his affections. Vantieth’s possession, mixed with the last of his remaining love, poured into the little boy like water in his lungs.

____________________-------___________________

Pushing south, the changeling had a lot to consider. This land was nothing like the four he had traveled so far. All the way down, citizens were like the stories of former Elvish kingdoms in past ages of Middle-earth. In Lindareth’s capital things seemed, and begging mercy for the comparison, more mannish. And more like Rhûn than Gondor. There was greater disparity between high and low station. There were no free nights in a barn to avoid the damp. Folk seemed glum.

The Elf dressed more in his Alqualondë clothes passing hamlets and some fair-sized towns heading towards King Thranduil’s lands. The day before he expected to see the border-bridge they rode to the city of Glannaith, ‘Purity’ in rough Westron. This was definitely not a fair haven of the Eldar. It was a bit more like Edoras with better woodcraft. Walls were tall posts. This did not look particularly permanent either. The timbers still had bark on them.

The actual border was another two leagues further south so this was a defensive garrison to watch bridge-traffic. It had no other reason for being here. The day grew late. Clouds threatened. Answers might be had inside.

Elves don’t stare. They gaze. They observe. Someone hadn’t explained that to the citizens of Glannaith. As usual, there weren’t signs explaining where the inns, food or brothels were. Nag Kath asked a pedestrian for recommended lodgings. The fellow looked him up and down and said, “Try the Cauma, two blocks ahead.” Nag Kath nodded his thanks and tied the horse to the post.

And as in a Middle-earth pub, there were men, Quendu in this case, deployed around a rude tavern sipping wine – some more than sipping. A lass behind the bar was pleasant enough and said the room and stabling was a Delsui silver piece. That was cheap by Aman standards so this must be deep in the provinces. With no pinching bugs here, he handed her a coin and took Shultö around back.

Towards dinnertime, Nag Kath wandered downstairs and took stock of the faces. Now among the firstborn for the better part of a year, he was starting to discern differences, both in bloodlines and expressions. Man’s general impression was that Elves were beautiful or handsome, sometimes both. Fair was the usual description. 

That was mostly true, but it was more accurate to say they had no ugly features. Eyes were attractive, never crossed or wall-eyed, and saw what they looked at. Teeth were straight. Elves were tallish and athletic. Skin was smooth. Hair was attractive and stayed in people’s heads at all ages.

Those featured didn’t always go together. In many cases, Elves were quite neutral-looking. A homely farmer in Rohan could be made much more congenial with a broad, genuine grin. These folk didn’t have those saving graces. 

As Nag Kath was making these idle associations, the lords of Glannaith were considering him much like the elders of Trum Dreng had so long ago. He wasn’t obviously Silvan and this was where those features mattered. An informant told his block warden and she told the equivalent of the guardi. A decent dinner wasn’t even finished when four lads from the local station worked their way through the patrons to convene at his table. They seemed from the plain side of Erü’s children as Nag Kath looked up from his greens. 

“We are here to ask your purpose in Glannaith.”

The changeling dabbed his lips with the napkin and scanned his new friends before replying, “I travel to King Thranduil’s realm.”

The same Quendu who asked asked again, “And what is to be gained visiting unblessed lands?”

“I am sent to deliver tidings from Alqualondë.”

“There are easier ways to get there than through here.”

Nag Kath wasn’t sure if these lads were official or trying to start a fight. Two carried swords. His was upstairs. Since Elves, even Farnëmar Elves, weren’t generally bandits, he would see where this led. “My opinion of the route was not asked.”

“We would see your permit to travel.”

Yes, Easterlings! This lot would look well-heeled back home but they were a bit scruffy for Elvish gentry. Answers would come from above – and it was time to see what else of the dark lord might be creeping about the borders. Nag Kath considered that and asked, “And you might be?” in a voice that suggested the guardi had gotten above his authority.

An instant of doubt was followed by, “This is from Cáno Ínair.”

The changeling tossed his napkin on the plate, “Then let us share this with the Cáno.”

The five walked through the stares into the street and up what little hill there was to an interior stockade. It was still light enough to see marginal improvements in accommodations over a quarter-mile stroll to those gates.

Trouble was expected in advance. Master-forger Nag Kath took the liberty of looking at Chancellor Vantieth’s correspondence and palming some of his personal stationary after dumping Lostorin in the Lord’s wine. On one sheet he scribbled instructions in Vantieth’s hand to a fictitious operative with a Woodland name. 

This was a rough border fort so reaching the Cáno was no more than a couple turns to a spacious hall that probably served many functions. The room was nicely appointed with glass windows and tapestries of better days. The changeling was led before a raised dais where he and the guards stood for nearly a bell. Even his escorts were getting anxious when a side door opened and an Elf of some gravitas appraised his captive while finding a seat up the steps.

“You are called to explain your business.”

He couldn’t make this too easy. As a courier of the north with dealings in the gardh capital, he was not answerable to the local administrator. The larger risk was that this fellow was contaminated by darkness and his cadre held sway within the larger government. Nag Kath said with poise, “My business is between Chancellor Vantieth and friends to the south.”

The wheels in the Cáno’s head were turning. “Those are ambitious claims.”

The changeling looked around the room and said softly, “And not for all ears.”

Ínair was stock still for a few moments and rose with a gruff, “This way.”

The Cáno led him past two more sentries into a small office. Nag Kath shut the door behind him. Ínair demanded, “Not for my ears either?”

“I have my instructions.”

“Again, large claims without proof.”

It was time. Nag Kath handed the administrator the forged letter without a word. The Cáno cracked the seal and read it closely. As he did, the changeling studied him. This one showed no sorcery. But it was in the air. If the pattern in the capital was for the ruler to be advised by the tainted, there would be another skulking about.

The Cáno realized he had interfered in communications between the high. Pride wouldn’t let him admit it to the tall blonde so he handed the note back and said, “You should be on your way.”

It was time to squeeze, “On my way with a broken seal?! This is in the Lord’s hand for a reason. I will need something from you explaining why my message is compromised.” If these people used far-speaking, his ruse would not hold water.

Cáno Ínair didn’t think that unreasonable, “My steward will attend you.”

The Elf’s pack was brought along with him. Other than the smell of horse, there was nothing to suggest he rode here. The changeling was escorted to an office several doors down with lesser furnishings. There he waited until a Quendu in dark apparel walked in and dismissed the guards. The contents of his healing bag were strewn on the steward’s table.

The fellow seemed gaunt. Lines etched his face. He was dirty, in the magical meaning of the term. Nag Kath hadn’t used any power since the light confusion spell so there shouldn’t be any residual to spot – unless this lad was very strong. The administrator stared at him for a minute and started his interrogation. 

“So, you bring tidings south?” It wasn’t really a question. Nag Kath said nothing. If he was pretending to be a high-courier, it was less this creature’s business than his master’s. “But yet, you carry the tools and herbs of healing. Why?”

“A fellow should look like he has a reason to be on the road.”

“I don’t like healing. I don’t like healers. True Elves, Elves made as the Holy Ones intended, do not need false aids to assume their rightful place.”

Again, Nag Kath said nothing, that being the perfect response for the under-official’s probe. It had the desired effect, “Do you actually employ these obscene potions to the beloved of Aman?”

The healer said neutrally, “At need.”

The dark Elf sidled up to him, having to look up to do so. “Not here.”

“Then attend your master’s bidding and get my letter.”

A genuine Elf, untainted by sorcery, would not have been so insulting. That wasn’t something Steward Nimrail could do anymore. He couldn’t hold his temper either. “Do you think you know what is best for our people?! Do you take it upon yourself to upset the balance that our true lord decides by fire and struggle?!” 

The Quendu pushed Nag Kath and in so doing, felt small magic from the changeling’s instinctive wards. As the steward gaped in recognition, Nag Kath grasped his throat with a silver arm and applied a bringing spell to the creature’s head, not unlike turning a baby in the womb. Part of Nimrail’s brain was where it shouldn’t be.

Nimrail slowly collapsed in a sitting position with the face of an infant suffering from stomach gas. That got Nag Kath no closer to the gate. He cracked the door and whispered to the sentries, “The steward has asked for you. As they trooped in, the second got the first’s sword through his throat out the top of his head. The second got a dark yellow confusion spell. The sorcerer laid this one on thick, “Your comrade attacked the steward. You slew him. I was never here. In five minutes, call for aid.”

That spell wouldn’t last more than a day but the ohtar didn’t actually see what happened. It was the most plausible explanation and brought credit to the soldier’s heroism. Had Nag Kath killed the dark steward, flows to the darkness would be interrupted and alert whoever was on the other end that there was trouble. An empty mind was simply a failed effort. The Quendu’s brain might someday repair itself. 

Nag Kath stuffed his things in the pack and used the ‘fast’ to get out a side door. Shultö hadn’t been ridden in pure black night before, but there was no time like the present.


	6. Court of the Elven-King

**_Chapter 6_ **

**_Court of the Elven-King_ **

Even on a good road it was a hundred leagues to the Elven-king’s capital. He had no reason to push the horse since sorting the gore in Glannaith would keep them busy. Nag Kath ate Lembas, stayed in the wild and started no conversations until he reached the Panduin or Full River separating the old Elves from the new.

After crossing, it was still three days to the city of Cantalori nestled in the foothills. Thranduil was a king, more than any other Elf in Nag Kath’s admittedly limited exposure could claim. How, exactly, was another mystery to the changeling, but Thranduil took it seriously and insisted everyone else do so as well. 

Unlike the Elvenhalls near Dale, these ways were not guarded secretly. Farms spread as far as the eye could see. The city was brand new and had no surrounding walls. The King had seen the futility of those in wars where wars still happened. Without the men of the middle Third Age, trolls hid behind the Rammas Wall while they broke off blocks for the trebuchets.

The palace itself had walls. Nag Kath rode to the gate and handed the reins to a groom. A senior attendant came out to ask his business and heard, “I am Nag Kath here seeking an audience with His Lordship.”

The functionary said dryly, “That is most unusual, Nag Kath.”

“Agreed, but I am just from Middle-earth and have tidings.”

The fellow mulled that a moment and said, “Sit here. This may take a while.”

A while was three bells. The attendant was back out to say, “You have been granted a few minutes. This way.”

Gaining the royal compound was much like it had been with every walkway narrowing to single-file at some point. There were probably wider approaches hidden behind the rock faces of the first cliffs. The attendant led and two ohtars fell in behind the changeling as they wove their way to a more comfortable and less intimidating throne-room than in Mirkwood. Thranduil was waiting as Nag Kath bowed and presented himself at the prescribed distance. 

The King looked down and said, “Well, you finally made it. I cannot say I am surprised Nag Kath.”

“I will take that as a compliment, Your Lordship.”

“And you have learned our language too. Remarkable. My lands are not easily reached, young person. Please explain your coming.”

“A small accounting matter sir. I thought it better done personally.”

Thranduil, a notorious skin-flint, said tersely, “Think you to make claim against me?!”

Nag Kath grinned before answering, “Quite the opposite.” He turned and nodded to the attendant to who took the Dwarvish silver box to his liege. 

Thranduil slowly opened the lid and gazed at the flawless diamond necklace Nag Kath traded for the mithril band. He shut the box very gently and uttered, “The proverbial King’s ransom.” The Elven King swallowed and asked evenly, “What are your conditions?”

“None, My Lord. One of my joys has been restoring things to their rightful owners. I know you lost this in heartache. Please accept it in thanks for treating me better than I deserved all those years ago. Perhaps we can speak privately before I leave.”

The King opened the box again. This had been his wife’s. The necklace, like her, had never, could never, be replaced. Thranduil looked back at the changeling and said softly, “Yes, yes we shall do that.” He brightened a little to say, “For once you are here with Prince Legolas. He governs our sister city on the eastern border but is now in my Halls.”

“I hope to see him, sir. That reminds me, I should like to visit the resting place of Gimli the Dwarf.” The King of the Elves was lost in the necklace again but had the presence of mind to nod to a guard approving a trip to the cemetery.

This was Legolas’ doing. Elves have small burial grounds. Massive losses in the wars of Middle-earth might earn all the dead a single stela, if they were ever found. Without war, few died. In a way, all of their statuary commemorated both living and dead. Gimli’s grave was properly apart from those who would eventually return from the Halls of Mandos. There were two symbols in the simple gray rock, one in Dwarvish, one in Sindarin. Both were the number nine. 

Nag Kath had been part of truly great things, but nothing he had done, not even all of them combined, could compare to the Fellowship of the Ring. He hoped that did not weigh too heavily on Legolas. Being the last legend should not linger forever. The Elf sat down by the marker and wrapped his arms around his knees to watch Arien drift across the sky. It was nearly the crescent moon of July. He would light candles if he could.

He felt the footsteps. Looking over his shoulder, Nag Kath rose to bow when Legolas said, “No, remain seated. I will join you.”

The Prince sat a few feet away. They both silently watched the Evenstar emerge as sun disappeared. The changeling was thoughtful, “This is a quiet and honored resting place. I am glad he has found this peace.”

Legolas looked at the stela, “I come here often to remember. He was dear to me.”

Nag Kath looked at the Prince and encouraged, “You helped him too. You tempered his views with wisdom and perspective.”

Legolas shook his head for a few moments before responding, “Perhaps, though it did not bring him closer to his own kind.”

“That is as well, My Lord. They have a hard road now that their rings are destroyed. Ages of ambition for wealth have not been replaced with fairer aspirations. I am very fond of Durin's Folk and my heart is torn for their future.”

Legolas smiled, “You needn’t tell anyone but I am fond of the red beer as well.” The Prince stretched his legs and continued, “Now then, your history seems to be repeating.”

“I fear so. Gandalf sent me to the conservative gardhs, supposedly to confer with healers. I knew better before I left, but came just the same. There is deep trouble in Farnëmar.”

“They agitate against those who returned later.”

Nag Kath said softly, “There is a dark lord backing them. Melkor, I think, same as I removed from Lady Celebrían.”

Legolas was very still. “You are sure? No, of course you are sure. Have you told father?”

“Not yet. We only met for a few minutes. I gave him a necklace from the mithril exchange. Lady Arwen said it was likely his. I did imply that I would like a private audience, but I only impose on royalty after asking nicely first.”

“He will see you. If not, I will.”

"Melkor will come from here, or nearby."

The Prince asked directly, "You have felt him?"

"No ... and I could be off by a hundred leagues. We return to mithril. The band was pointed directly west from the Numenorean capital. I never discovered why. If the fell device was focused on a rend in the curtain, that puts it somewhere south of here."

His Highness growled, "The bleak lands - a perfect place to work in stealth. It seems none of us are quit of dark lords.”

There were not many inns in Thranduil’s city. As dawn approached, Nag Kath rose to get Shultö only to find the guard who brought them had waited. He said rooms had been prepared at the palace. His horse was already stabled so the two soldiers joined a number of Elves having the first wave of breakfast served in the commons.

Cantalori was an eye-opener. It was the first modern Elf city. The history, as explained by Elladan, was that only about a thousand of Thranduil’s retainers held the area for the entire Third Age. It was well south of the more desirable regions near the only usable gap to the interior and not in demand, colder too, but they were used to that. Thranduil and the bulk of his woodland people returned through Cirdan’s southern harbor along the Panduin. Urthanos’ lands directly east were the better coastal farmland and the Lord had no trouble with a friendly neighbor colonizing into the foothills. Urthanos qualified to be one of the conservative lords but fell into the neutral category with quite a few Sindarin Elves as subjects.

Most of the Elven King’s woodland folk had only arrived in the last five hundred years, including eight thousand after the Ring War. The climate and forests of the southern mountains were much like northern Mirkwood, although the stars here were those of Thân zîrân. Nag Kath supposed they were about the same distance south of Gondor.

With a great many people and no place to put them, a massive building effort was initiated to make a new civilization for the woodland folk. Plentiful rock from the mountains was quarried along with a great harvest of good (and cooperative) timber. It reminded Nag Kath of a huge Emyn Vierald. Below the Harnduin or Southern River further south began much colder and less fertile ground. It had farmers too, but they were few and isolated. 

The Elf presumed His Lordship knew where to find him so he wandered the city proper looking for folk he might know. First on his list was Denethiur, the artist. He lived in the supported community just south of the palace. His young daughter Inhai opened the door and smiled but did not recognize the guest. Nag Kath said, “Good morning. I am Nag Kath calling to see if the artist Danethiur lives here.”

“He does indeed sir. Please come in Nag Kath. I will let him know you are here.”

While he waited, the Elf walked around the main room, more spacious than the old quarters, and looked at the art on the walls. The artist had followed his spirit, not including what wasn’t needed, and was much the better for it. One of Nag Kath’s better watercolors was hanging as well. 

Danethiur had no trouble remembering his collaborator and rushed out to greet him hands clasped in the western fashion. The missus, whose name was Inhura, also came out for a more conventional bow. Inhai, who at only one hundred fifty years old was not yet of marriageable age, served tea and joined them. In the way of modern women, she was allowed to speak at table.

They enjoyed each others’ company for several hours talking about art, history, battles, art again and many of Nag Kath’s unbelievable adventures. Danethiur knew Gimli a little from his years here after the Dwarf lived with Celeborn and golden-haired Galadriel. The ground between realms was not hospitable so when he came here with Legolas, he stayed. The scholar Tulferath lived only a block away and Danethiur would be sure they met. With promises of a grand dinner, the changeling was on his way for one more visit.

Loniel, the healer of Emyn Vierald lived in one of the lower city neighborhoods. Most injuries came from the fields so it was usual for physicians to be close to their patients. Nag Kath knocked on the door which was answered by a handsome Quendu as large as him. Nag Kath smiled that the beautiful woman had found a husband. The smile was misinterpreted as general good nature, which was also true. The visitor said, “I am Nag Kath, a healer from foreign lands and I wanted to say hello to Loniel if she is here.”

The tall Elf smiled as well, “Welcome. Please come in. She gathers herbs but should be back presently. Would you like tea?”

Nag Kath had enough tea already but accepted to be polite. This tasted different than the other brews he had in Aman. The fellow sat down as well and said, “I am Heziathar. Loniel and I are recently married.”

“Congratulations Heziathar. I met your wife in Emyn Vierald.” He did not add the circumstances. Heziathar was a civil administrator for city upkeep so they talked about what Nag Kath had done around the east. Elves considered the aqueduct to be a blight so he left that out too. It was only a quarter-bell before the lady of the home returned with a basket. Both males rose.

Upon seeing Nag Kath, she put her hand over her mouth in surprise and then the two bowed equally. She said, “My, this is a surprise, Mr. Nag. I did not think to see you on this side.”

“I am only just arrived a year ago in Harvién and had business here. I hope you do not mind my asking after you.”

She smiled, “No, not at all.” Somewhat tentatively, “Was your journey without incident?”

Heziathar was interested in that too. Nag Kath replied, “A bit of bother in Farnëmar. It seems they are not enchanted with Dark Elves.”

Heziathar commented, “Correct. We have what we need here and were used to that in the woodland realm. Our neighbor Urthanos trades with us gladly, so we are removed from northern tensions.”

Loniel knew a deal more about the wandering healer’s political past than almost anyone here in Aman. His business was almost certainly those very tensions. On that assumption she probed, “Are your healing powers the same as before, Mr. Nag?”

“Please, just Nag Kath. Stronger, considerably stronger.”

She said primly, “You had other skills as well.”

“Also stronger.”

Loniel told Heziathar about the healer who showed her the clarity spell, but not by name and not much about the beast pool. Here among the most recently arrived, Nag Kath had no trouble explaining his quest, “There are concerns that old friends seek to return. I wanted to ask if you have needed to repair confusion in your practice, especially lately.”

This was important and in the interests of her Lord so she answered, “I have not, but I have heard there are those to the northeast who have shown symptoms like the tainted water. Understand, not much from those lands filters to our ears.”

Nag Kath pressed, “Recently?”

“Yes, in the last five seasons.”

Heziathar was concerned for his wife and asked firmly, “Dear, is this something you would rather not discuss?”

She realized the line of questions might make it seem the visitor was imposing. Loniel said quickly, “No, husband. Nag Kath is very much on the right side of difficulty, if difficulty there is.” She lilted the end of that sentence to make it a query for the guest.

“Possibly, and forgive me for being so forward. I will travel to those lands before long. Do you know the healer Daelor?”

Loniel replied, “Know of. She is famous among our people.”

“I’ve been advised to seek her counsel. A word of warning, fair healer, if you come across the kind of confusion I mentioned, do not use the clarity spell and do not touch them. The confusion is not of their making nor can it be cured by the craft we discussed. If you encounter it, send a message to King Thranduil that a Mr. Yvsuldor is visiting.”

______________-------_____________

Nag Kath had lunch and went back to the palace in the early afternoon. The King had not sent for him. He would stay until then or two weeks. That was probably harvest time in Naitë Mélamar. If there was militia activity, he wanted to see it. Farm workers would be traveling to assist in neighboring fields and not seem out of place on the road. 

First he would visit the harbor of Lord Cirdan. The road was safe and he might get excellent counsel before entering the dragon’s lair. That was a hundred leagues from here, like almost everything else. Men might resent traveling a month to give away a priceless necklace but Thranduil’s cost was information. Nag Kath would give him the opportunity to participate. 

It was another two leisurely days of looking at architecture before an ohtar, this time a Captain, came to request his presence.

This was not an audience in the great hall. Thranduil was sitting on a stone bench in a side garden. The ohtar pointed the way and withdrew. Nag Kath walked forward and bowed. The King waved his hand at the bench next to his then said softly, “At first I was excited, enthralled with the beauty. Then I realized how much the necklace reminded me of her. I will not marry again, but I will treasure your gift and the kindness of your gesture.

“You have grown, Nag Kath. You became what you should have. I am closer to my son and through him I developed a fondness for Gimli as Gimli had for you. It was he who told me you took only a handful of the jewels of Frôr. He did not know they included the necklace. What both Gimli and Legolas did know was that you were often fighting the darkness left behind." The King paused a moment, “Is that why you are here now?”

Nag Kath nodded, “It is.”

The King said, “Tell me of getting here and of my friends to the north.”

That took half a bell. Thranduil asked intelligent questions here and there but mostly let the changeling recite his oft-told story. And like all of the lords who should know, he asked in concern, “Morgoth?”

“Yes sir. Thrice now. The first was old and lost. The ones above you much newer. It would help me to know how Meliath and Lindareth get along.”

The King held his chin before answering, “Until lately I would have said poorly. I know from hard lessons that those who hold the past over their enemies do so to their supposed friends too. In the last few years they sharpen their tongues against those of us who are newer or returned to this place.”

“Sir, which of them holds the stronger hand?”

“Meliath. He has more people, soldiers, access, that is the largest gardh in Eldamar. His weakness is that he talks bolder than he acts.”

Nag Kath tiptoed across the snow, “Do you know of a Selvas?”

Thranduil grinned, “He is new to high counselor but nothing is known of his family. That is unusual where people need provenance.”

“Is he a wizard?”

“That I do not know. What do you think?”

The changeling answered, “My money is on him with sorcery afoot. Can the two lords between them field enough force to crush Galadriel and Elrond?”

“Certainly, but they will take a beating for it. Those miserable Silmarils still call for blood.”

Nag Kath asked a question he had no right to, “Sir, if Lindareth marches on your old allies, will you harass his rearguard?” Nag Kath was a junior ambassador without portfolio, sent by a meddling wizard. The King thought the changeling could be trusted, but that single issue determined the safety of his realm. 

“I cannot say yes or no. I tell you this; my armies never truly stood-down. We train to defend at the bridges. We also train to take them. Galadriel or Celeborn and Elrond have to make that request. My son watches from his city as well.”

“I can ask no more, Your Highness. There is a healer of your people I met in Emyn Vierald who suspects dark sorcery in Meliath’s lands. If you receive a note that a Mr. Yvsuldor is visiting, I respectfully suggest you hear her concerns.”

Thranduil rose, “Thank you for coming, Nag Kath. I mean that.”

That night, Nag Kath left a candle burning until dawn for the new moon. The next day he had breakfast with Danethiur and made for the coast.


	7. Harbor of Light

**_Chapter 7_ **

**_Harbor_ ** **_of Light_ **

This road was not to the standard of the older ones. It was fine for a horse but not for an army with their supplies in wagons. The roads coming down from the Panduin bridges looked sound. After a week, there were fewer farms. This was the border region between Thranduil and the neutral Urthanos. Like the rest of this vast plain, it looked like it could grow anything one planted. There just weren’t enough people to eat it. 

Four days east he reached the confluence of the Athradduin and Panduin. Roads on both sides of the river were busy with merchant traffic hauling goods to and from the harbor. Many craftsmen and smiths were included among the farmers. People looked more at his horse than him and the folk of Lord Urthanos were friendly. He shared an ale with some of them at a tavern that was more like those of Middle-earth than this reserved land. It was another three days to reach Cirdan’s harbor and fief of Miquhwesta which included an extra day of being ferried across the bay to avoid a sizeable troop of Naitë Mélamar soldiers guarding the north side of the main bridge. 

The city Vílënost was exquisite; Grey Havens in the west except with vibrant people. It included the bay and sea-side of a peninsula. The river wasn’t a wild mess of deltas like Gondor. Rock banks kept the flows contained but it was clear they could rise quite a bit in spring.

Nag Kath thought there might be six thousand people in the city and that many more along the fifty mile length of Miquhwesta. The northern half of the strip was farms like everywhere else. The south bay was the best anchorage below Alqualondë. As with the rest of Elvendom, there were no signs to say where folk were. Nag Kath bounced through several likely offices until he found Lord Cirdan’s headquarters. He was told the great mariner was in port but seldom here. The Elf wrote a quick note, added it to Gandalf’s and asked for their favored inn. For dinner he had some sort of Odar. It didn’t matter which. It was sublime after inland food for a year. A stroll through the city had Nag Kath thinking he could easily live here.

Dawn did nothing to change that. He told the innkeeper he was going to the wharf and took his sketch pad to draw gulls circling the fishing boats. Perhaps sentient beings needed approval to get here, but these birds looked just like their cousins in Dol Amroth. The work flowed and he was well into his third sketch when he felt the presence. Nag Kath tucked the board under his arm and walked to a small grove of trees lining the quay road where a lone figure was sitting on a bench. Gandalf told him Cirdan was one of the few Elves with a beard. He was unimaginably old and wise, of the Sindar Elves and the ferryman for returning Quendi since time before time.

The changeling walked close and bowed in silence. The revered Elf's face split into a wry smile to say, “I saw your little boat.”

That earned a smile in return, “I shamelessly borrowed from your designs, My Lord.”

“Come, sit next to me so I can decide what to make of you.”

Nag Kath did. What started as a neutral assessment changed as Cirdan looked closely. He held the Elf’s face as Elrond had done with Inariel and said, “How is this possible? You are the very image of Nomaral.” The mariner shook his head, “No, he perished with his entire company so very long ago.” Cirdan took his hands from the motionless Nag Kath but not his gaze. Then he slowly said, “Forgive me. The resemblance is remarkable.”

The changeling forgave him by saying, “I may very well be Nomaral reborn. It is an interesting story, but will take all day to tell.”

Cirdan rose from the bench, “Long stories are my favorites. Come to my home and tell me over tea.”

In direct contrast to other Elven lords, Cirdan lived quite simply. His home here was a mansion, yes, but not a fortress. There were a few guards in civilian garments and an adequate assortment of household servants who took one look at the guest and brought tea and cakes to the master’s minimally-appointed office. The two Elves sat in chairs and attended their tea mugs waiting for the maid to shut the door behind her.

Cirdan took a sip and said, “Reborn you say?”

“At least twice.” Nag Kath would have told Cirdan anything he asked. Even as much as he got out of his mouth took four bells. In a life with few surprises left, the mariner was fascinated with the sorcery. The changeling saw him turn the ring Narya on his finger a few times as if it was too tight. Cirdan bore it at the height of its power, trusting it to Gandalf’s wisdom and need against Sauron.

Cirdan noticed Nag Kath’s eyes on his hands and said, “So, you know of this ring?”

“Gandalf let me wear it. He wanted to see if it enhanced my powers.”

“Did it?”

Nag Kath grinned, “Not that we noticed. Saruman’s staff head was another matter.” 

They were nearing the dinner hour when they got to the mithril band and removing Morgoth from the blood. It was clear the story was nowhere near complete so they took a needed break after so much tea and sitting. In the hall, Cirdan called for his steward and said, “This is Nag Kath who will be staying with us for a while. Please see to the green room and dinner, and have someone fetch his things and horse from his inn.”

The Quendu nodded and started to turn when Nag Kath said, “My Lord, I need to go as well. There are strong wards on my bags that will keep even the clear-minded from them. I shouldn’t be long.” 

When the changeling left with one of the household staff, Cirdan took Narya off and looked closely. The power was gone, but it once had the ability to inspire resistance to tyranny. There was no need after the One Ring was destroyed …

… no need until now.

Yet again in the last fifty years he wondered if Morgoth was seeping into the world from a pinhole in the curtain. Cirdan never met Gimli. He met Legolas at a large gathering with no mention of Orc Six. Gandalf mentioned him when they sailed here together but at that time, the changeling was still a gangling yrch. 

The oddest thing was that Nag Kath’s powers had grown, not greatly, but against an age when the ability to summon humors unto oneself had diminished. Cirdan would keep the curious creature here as long as it took to discover what he needed because he and Gandalf usually agreed on the nature of threats. The mariner was witness to the astonishing hubris and childishness of the firstborn, their blindness to the damage they did themselves. It had been long years since they had done anything truly foolish. The time was ripe.

Such contentions were supported. Meliath’s advocates agitated against Cirdan’s colony in vengeance for bringing Elves to these blessed lands. Most of Thranduil’s people came to this very harbor. If even a half-dozen Naitë militias attacked his modest outpost, they would overrun it in days. Unlike the more recently arrived Lords, the mariner had ‘Eyes’ in the world, including Meliath’s capital Arnost. His lads also watched Meliath’s spies here, at least, the ones they knew. 

What made this fascinating and horrifying was the possibility that the haughty fellow-Teleri Meliath was in league with the blackest and most powerful Ainu who ever stalked the earth. Morgoth would still need help. He was a dog scratching through a door. Having someone open it would be easier. The Kath creature’s contention that there had been an older attempt to secure his freedom with that mithril band had merit. It alone was not enough or it would have been done. But enough of him squeezed through the crack to suggest he had been staring through from the other side. Meliath was just witless enough to hitch his star to darkness.

Yes, Nag Kath would be staying as long as it took. That was not so onerous. The youngster seemed a very nice fellow and the most interesting thing that had happened in a while; a new grandchild finding his way. The grandson returned about a bell later with his horse and travel bag. Dinner conversation got away from the dark-side. Nag Kath talked about his art and what it had meant to him. He glowed described building and healing. There was no subtlety to his expressions. He warmed when describing his wife, Elrond’s grand-daughter of all people! Tomorrow they would talk about the practical aspects of the coming fight.

___________-------__________

Nag Kath stayed in Cirdan’s home and they usually spent two hours a day mostly discussing the new Elf’s quest. Nag Kath said he was now one-hundred forty-six, too young to have wed once, never mind at the age of four. What the ancient mariner was not expecting was the changeling’s grasp of military strategy and tactics. He was of an age to be a very junior officer but the Quendu had generalled, and done it well. His foray into the heart of Harad showed he knew his politics. 

Nag Kath knew quite a bit about sailing too. That was refreshing. Elves only plied the deep blue sea at great need. His tale of building a ship and sailing to the lands below Dol Amroth kept Cirdan on the edge of his chair. Learning there was a like bay coming in from an eastern sea supported evidence Cirdan had heard before the Dark Numenoreans even got there. Hurling fire and tossing sailors off enemy ships was handy.

Nag Kath received wise instruction and was deeply grateful that the esteemed Lord had granted him such precious time. Cirdan gave the young Elf something he had been seeking almost his whole life during an in-depth conversation about Orlo and his resistance to Sauron. Nag Kath described the eastern retreats, including his own. Those were astonishing. How could a secret sect of opposition have survived the harshest conditions on earth? Elves and Valar had given up on their fate.

Almost in passing, the changeling said, “Orlo also had adherents in the lands of Nurad, though he used a different name.”

“And what was that, Nag Kath?”

“Stámo.”

Cirdan beetled his brows and asked, “Stámo … Rómestámo?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “I have no idea.”

The mariner folded his hands in his lap as pieces fell into place. The youngster waited more patiently than one might expect at his age. Cirdan said softly , “Rómestámo was one of the wizards. I sailed him to Middle-earth with his order-brothers Alatar and your old friend Saruman.”

The Great Elf ran his fingers through his beard, deep in thought, before continuing, “He and Alatar were blue wizards of the Istari. I took Gandalf and Radagast on the previous Swan-ship. Now, what was his other name … Pallando, he was Pallando. The blue wizards went to the east and were never seen again. When Saruman’s treachery was discovered, we wondered if he had betrayed them.”

Nag Kath was able to shed light on that, “Perhaps. Orlo told me that before Sauron could destroy him, he was reduced to a spirit only to return three days a year, the crescent moon of July. I lit my candle a few weeks ago in his memory.” The youngster brightened, “Ah!” Then he collected his satchel and started sketching. Cirdan had not paid any attention to boats and birds but he was impressed by how Nag Kath could draw from memory. The first portrait was the old boatwright with his enigmatic smile. Cirdan seemed to recognize him just like everyone else. The second was the bearded face Nag Kath thought might be a younger Gandalf.

Cirdan stared before saying, “That is your fellow!”

So the wizard had not failed. He weakened Sauron’s forces from deep in their heart – delaying troops to barely lose the Pelennor! He would never have a carved statue here or Middle-earth, but Rómestámo finally qualified. Nag Kath did not mention the gureeq seed in his pack. Orlo told him that was his decision alone.

After two weeks, Nag Kath’s entire brain had been poured into the wise Lord’s ears. Cirdan liked the youngster and also saw the wisdom in Gandalf sending him to stir the hornets. The young Elf asked after the healer and the likely dark candidate. Cirdan decided he had to share secret information if he was truly in this intrigue so he admitted, “The healer is indeed a healer, though I do not know if she is in accord with her ruler’s policy. Selvas? He is new. He keeps himself from view.”

Nag Kath said grimly, “I know the type. My Lord, to get close to him I will need a better disguise than footloose healer. I got my horse in Alqualondë. Will these Naitë lordlings spot that?”

“I should think so.”

“Good. I’ll need better tack and merchant’s apparel of that city. Is there something from the north that commands fawning attention in the provinces?”

Cirdan considered the youngster and allowed himself a small smile, “You mean like your jewels?”

Nag Kath asked while he stroked his chin, “Jewels like Traybor diamonds?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, young Quendu. King Thranduil said he has an astrologer assistant. What do you know of that craft?”

The youngster nodded slightly, “Enough to look gullible. It has been my approach to appear an earnest but inexperienced adherent, just the sort that those who claim expertise like to take advantage of. With a little magic here and there I can make things seem the way I want and make people do what I want.”

Cirdan cast a little doubt on the changeling’s boast, “And if those fail?”

“I’ll kill them. If it keeps Melkor in the bottle, I will take every head in the room.”

Cirdan finally understood. As much as Nag Kath’s healing and caring and love sustained him, he was a born assassin. Gandalf chose well. 

It was time for the mariner to cast his lot. “Young Elf, I will help you. Riding a horse from here will taint your entry into Arnost. If you are a diamond merchant from the prestigious city of Alqualondë, you need to impress the rustics by arriving in style by ship at their port of Huorëlorn. I will take you myself.”

“This is too kind, noble sir.”

“Kind; no. Needed; yes. What else do you need?”

“Spices.”

_______________-------______________

It seemed impossible that Nag Kath knew something Cirdan didn't, but the Lord Mariner got a lesson in the weasley art of advance publicity. A quiet-man was dispatched to Meliath’s capital spreading rumors that a representative of Yandieth and Solvanth would be arriving to speak to the fancy about jewels recently on the market from the great mines of Middle-earth. The Elves from Middle-earth they could do without, but they had no compunction about baubles.

Cirdan was familiar with widespread rumors, not targeted ones. Captain Penandoth told Nag Kath that the object was to make high lords think someone in their city was getting precious objects they were not. Who was excluded in the ruse was more important than who was told. Aman did not have mercantile empires as in the east, but even more so, there was a hierarchy for anything worth having. Seeding information in the middle would reach the top confused. 

Nag Kath showed Cirdan the gems he brought for bribery, about fifty in a range of sizes including several Traybors. One of the two red stones would fit in Narya. The changeling gave it to him as a spare. An impressive saddle was resewn for coins and gems against a hurried exit. Clothes from Alqualondë were found and fitted. One poor attendant was charged with the changeling’s unfortunate hair. It was long enough for the woman to actually make it look Elvish. Cirdan’s steward wondered if he had a touch of Vanyar blood.

It was time to talk about that blood. Nomaral was a young Teleri Elf of Thingol’s army whose troop was slain by orcs at the first battle of Beleriand. The tide turned when Thingol’s troops arrived attempting to rescue Denethor’s Laiquendi, but it was a fearful slaughter. If Nomaral was taken and tortured into an orc, it was done well after the common orcs were already bred in strength for that war. That seemed plausible since Nag Kath was of the powerful Uruk strain that did not appear until later. Morgoth would have constantly improved the herd. Cirdan met Nomaral when the young officer was the quartermaster’s aide for transporting supplies from the fleet to inland troops. Nag Kath seemed taller and broader across the shoulders but it was a long time ago. 

The changeling took all of the Lord Mariner’s suppositions about his heritage in stride. Cirdan found no particularly loyalties or animosities towards the varied peoples of Aman. Hundreds of orc generations had removed the Elvish draw to this continent so he was an Elf in body and mind only. Did he have a soul? Was it the soul that was pulled Elves to the Undying Lands? The only ones who could answer that were in holy halls with unknown interest in the children of Eldamar. 

For another week, Nag Kath learned how not to trip in Teleri robes, studied astrological terms in Quenya and spent a great deal of time with Cirdan’s Spymaster Elurín, who would be his new Listracht. There was a lot to know, or excuses for not knowing. 

At first, Cirdan’s head of ‘ears and eyes’ thought the lad was hopeless but then began to see ability. A few days before they left, the warrior joined Nag Kath in the courtyard for morning slow-swords to see what the greenbottom could do. Making the same mistake as everyone else, the teacher became the pupil with purple bruises that would take even an Elf a couple days to heal. Nag Kath needed his ‘assistant’ to understand so for the last move, he was suddenly behind Elurín with his beater under the warrior’s throat. Skills like that could overcome walking like a farmer. With some revulsion, Elurín also watched the sorcerer curse a fresh batch of Lostorin from local ingredients.

It was time to go. Cirdan used a ship known for plying northern coastal routes. Shultö had little trouble getting on board and into a well-designed stall. The great mariner kept well offshore and looped around the Naitë port so he would appear to have come from Alqualondë. With a sea voyage of two hundred leagues, the three had a lot of time for final planning. Ostensibly, Captain Quendül was in charge, but he was first mate until they docked with Cirdan below-decks.

In the evenings and mornings, everyone on board paid special attention to the Evenstar. Elvish mariners sang a brief prayer something like Inariel remembered of the ‘straight path’ map at night and something similar at dawn. 

The bumbling young Elf finally asked Cirdan, “Please, sir, I am confused about that star. It does not move the way the rest do. We have both been deep-south and seen it rise there when it should be beyond the horizon. Stories range from him being an exile with a jewel on his hat to a great warrior lighting the way. And his wife is a bird. Help me here.”

“It is confusing for those on earth. I never met Eärendil or his lady Elwing. Nor have I found her fabled tower – and I know more of these coasts than anyone but those who created them.

“You must understand, young sorcerer, those tales are told to give meaning and purpose. One mustn’t try to be too precise. That is difficult for those of us who ply the seas because everything we do must be exact. I do know that time is different for the heroes and symbols the Valar give us. A year might only be a day. Still, he looks down on us, friends and enemies both. I have even heard tell that when you destroyed the Witch-King’s stone, Eärendil shone down on us the brighter for taking the blackness from his light.”

Cirdan took a sip of cold tea from his bottle and continued as Nag Kath was enthralled, “That may be important someday. I doubt Meliath knows or believes it. In many ways, he is more mannish than the Eldar of the north and west. In my travels to Middle-earth I learned something of the greedy; men, Elves and Dwarves. Use that, but do not confront him. His pride will bring vengeance.”

Someone with better manners might be circumspect. The last Uruk-hai grinned, “One of my specialties.”

In the here and now, Cirdan wanted to know if the arrogant Meliath actually meant to use his army to back his boasts about removing impure elements from the land. It sounded like Lindareth was involved too. If those two had patched their rivalries, there was nothing to stop Lindareth from crossing the Athradduin except tradition. 

The question in everyone’s minds was the lordless ground between Meliath and Galadriel/Celeborn. Meliath would have to cross it whether he gave it back or not. Meliath’s gripe was more with Galadriel than Elrond. Taking his war further north got him too close to the neutral Teleri Lord Felaour, vassal to King Ölwe. Felaour controlled all of the land between the northern rivers except Elrond’s mountain crags. There would be no strategic reason to invade and hold the thumb of Harvién. Meliath had to detour through Galadriel and Celeborn’s Penethornost to reach Elrond or straight through Felaour’s southern lands, and that would mean a real war. Neutral was not the same as unwary.


	8. Meliath

**_Chapter 8_ **

**_Meliath_ **

The ship pulled into Huorëlorn early in the afternoon on purpose. It gave Nag Kath time to take lodging in a fine inn and let the spymaster walk the docks. Nag Kath stayed to his room. Elurín ate out. When he returned, there was nothing unusual to report except that the port was bringing in more iron and steel than usual. Nag Kath told him about iron smuggling on the Anduin and how crates were mislabeled in the fraud. Naitë Mélamar had few iron mines but they could buy all they wanted. ‘Eyes’ watched that lately.

It was thirty leagues to the capital Arnost on a flawless road. The early-wheat was already in but militia training wouldn't start until second-harvest. Inns were pleasant and the food was good. It might be a long time before Nag Kath took rooms without wanting to inspect them for lice. On the afternoon of the fourth day they rode to old-fashioned walled-gates. A stout surround, never less than fifteen-feet high, encircled the entire palace built on a modest hill in the city center. The outer gates were open during the day. Skid-marks on the ground showed they were closed each night, against whom was unclear. Wall-walks could handle archers at least three deep but Nag Kath saw no pitch or arrow louvers to shoot down.

Under various names, Elurín had been here several times. He used the unlovely name Festular for this occasion. It sounded Rhûnish to the youngster. The representatives of Yandieth and Solvanth took lodgings at the Inthorn, a good but not superb inn near the commercial sector of the city. Nag Kath’s room was the better of the two. Elurín’s was closer to a stairway leading either out or down to a cellar with a service hatch on the side of the building. 

For the first day they did absolutely nothing public. At the appointed time, the Quendu who was here spreading rumors walked by to signal no one else was watching. The spymaster explained Arnost was more like a mannish city than most. Quendi could have their own businesses and keep what they made, less taxes. That meant in addition to hereditary lordship, there was a merchant nobility who liked to dress the part. If selective word was spread, all the wrong people would like a look at the jewelers’ inventory.

For security reasons, in Middle-earth a real gem peddler would make customers come to a fortified building after paying the right officials. In their case, they visited their customers where something might be learned. One family had a stranglehold on window-glass. The owner and his ambitious wife were among those targeted for the first presentations. Solvanth and Festular were admitted by a gate guard and escorted to the main house where massive oak doors were opened in anticipation.

It had been an age, in the fashion-conscious sense of the term, since quality gems had been on offer. Aman had few mines and fewer Dwarves to dig them. What was here had been here forever or came from Middle-earth. Jewels were spoils of war and these weren’t the warring folk, at least, not yet. Solvanth could have asked the moon and gotten it. He was more interested in access. Mr. and Mrs. Jesherion had their own jeweler present to examine the stones and suggest settings if they were up to snuff. They absolutely were and the couple purchased a pair of white stones about a quarter-inch across for matching rings. They might have bought quite a few more when the experienced advisor cleared his throat before mentioning that they had just received a special request for another viewing. That implied someone up the hill and the Jesherions were glad to get what they did.

Elurín, new to marketing, was a bit surprised they hadn’t received a summons from on high. His protege explained in his wry sense of irony that was the best possible outcome. Demand had to build, along with the price. In the meantime, young Solvanth, close to an actual Elvish name, had leisure to pursue his passion for celestial interpretation. There was what looked like an observatory tower inside the palace grounds, well out of reach of commoners. Among the private enterprises allowed here were; alchemy, astrology and divining the future. 

The gem merchant strolled that quarter and had a hard time keeping his grin at bay. Naitë was much more like Middle-earth than anyplace he had seen in Aman. In this district, one would expect the denizens to be wizened old women or men in clothes that had seen better days. Here, everyone was handsome and had no holes in their shoes. Nag Kath found a shop with a tasteful sign that said; “Portents from the stars explained for discerning patrons.” The door was freshly painted so he started there. A small printed swan was at eye height on the door jamb.

Such a place should be filthy too, but this one had been swept regularly. A bell over the door brought the proprietor from the back to bow in their fashion saying, “Ah, good morning, sir. I am Ordonir. Do you need help with an important decision?”

The astonished customer exclaimed, “How did you know?! No matter, I am considering a proposal of marriage to a woman at home in Alqualondë and want to know the most propitious time to ask her parents. If the union is favored, I should also like to know the best day for a ceremony.” As if confiding a secret, “Sooner is better because another suitor might not take the same care.”

The astrologer held his smooth chin as he appeared to consider what he always said, “Two dates … let me see. First, young sir, give me the birth-date of your intended.”

“July eighteenth of the Third Age 2871.”

The fellow started flipping through on of several bound volumes on a back shelf. This was the newest. He made a few notes on a sheet of paper and then said, “And now, your date of birth?”

Dare he lie? He decided not much, “April fourth, 2912.” That put him at two hundred fifty years old, barely marriageable, but he was a rich kid. That sent the soothsayer towards the front of the same book for several more auspices.

The diviner’s next line would have been the same here or Osgiliath, “I will need to consult the oracles since there are two distinct dates and the one must precede the other. My calculations will be completed by this time tomorrow. The modest charge will be six silver Delsui."

Nag Kath was fairly sure that was based on the quality of his boots, not the effort to consult the auguries. It didn’t matter. He was already married. The Elf said, “Splendid.” Counting out the silvers he added, “I am so pleased to find this district has wise people such as yourself. Alqualondë is much enamored of ‘modern’ advisors, if you can imagine such nonsense.”

The changeling was not wise enough to read Elvish faces but was sure the astrologer was thinking; ‘a greenbottom paying top price and thinks this is excellent news! What advice might he need tomorrow?’ That needed pre-selling, “Why thank you, young master. I am sorry these arts are not esteemed further north. I have been doing this for long years with many satisfied customers.”

Ordonir oversold, “Did you know our own Minister Talifür is Master of Celestial Interpretation?”

If the soothsayer hadn’t mentioned it, Nag Kath would have. The greenbottom displayed his youth blurting, “Talifür? An astrologer?”

“Indeed he is.”

The young Quendu was impressed, “That certainly puts your efforts in the best possible light. He must be much honored here in Arnost.”

“Oh yes. I know him well. He is consultant to Chancellor Selvas himself, who is said to have powers of old. 

The northern lad seemed concerned. Talk of ‘old powers’ might have upset his delicate sensibilities. Biting his knuckle softly, the gravity seemed to pass and he said, “Then I am sure your liege is well served. I hope Lord Selvas is of good family.”

With modesty the soothsayer salved, “I am not privy to such matters but he could not have reached his position without worthy ancestors, not like these come-lately folk along the mountains. I am proud to display the swan on my door.”

Again; the look of concern. Had the astrologer erred in thinking the greenbottom was of those regrettable immigrants? The would-be groom-elect smiled and asked, “Forgive me sir; swan?”

“The mark that we cater to those who never abandoned our lands.”

The young lovebird made the connection and relaxed, “Oh, I have seen those on other buildings but did not know the meaning. Does that lament the Swan ships burned by those wisely exiled from our Undying Lands?”

“Exactly, sir.”

The customer assured him, “Such things cannot be taken for granted in these perilous times, honored astrologer Ordonir.”

The soothsayer was solicitous. The coins were his. The young fellow was certainly coming back for the reading. It was time to plant the seed, “Just let me know if you need any assistance with your business decisions.”

As if struck with insight, the tall youngster recalled, “Now that you mention it, father’s own advisor at home saw my visit here as an opportunity. We are in the jewelry business. The timing seems good, but we have noticed that people here are much distracted. Perhaps you could broker a meeting with your friend Master Talifür.”

Ordonir hardly knew Talifür, but the up-and-coming counselor was fond of pretty things and this handsome young fellow appreciated celestial advice. The soothsayer tried to puff the exclusivity of his intercession by saying, “He is terribly busy. I will see what I can do.”

___________-------___________

Elurín was sitting in the dining hall nursing a mug of tea when his charge and joined him. The spymaster huffed, “We have another appointment with a merchant prince this afternoon.” He did not sound enthused.

The greenbottom countered cheerfully, “I've been consulting the stars for my proposed marriage.”

Elurín just stared. The changeling continued, “Astrology is an esteemed vocation in the city. I was just gouged six Delsui for a soothsayer to pick the best auspices for me to ask my beloved’s hand. We go back tomorrow for the joyous news.”

Elurín’s mood did not sweeten. “What does that earn us?”

“The soothsayer claims to know the astrologer who advises this Selvas. I doubt that, but I implied I would make it worth his while to arrange an introduction. The soothsayer must think Talifür is fond of gemstones. If he gets wind that the people seeking the introduction are the same ones with rare jewels; that might get us in the door. 

Elurín did not see the point until Nag Kath added, “Chancellor Selvas is said to have powers of old.” The changeling grinned with a Dalish drawl, “Now, where do you suppose a right-proper Elf came by those?”

Elurín turned to the server for two goblets of wine and admitted to himself that this refugee was from a harder-school of diplomacy than Aman had seen in an age.

**_My Dear Master Talifür,_ **

**_Please accept my congratulations on your recent appointment. I have found a situation to your advantage; a young merchant came for advice concerning an intended marriage in his home to the north. He believes deeply in celestial guidance._ **

**_His business is jewelry, evidently of fine quality. If either his wares or support of our views are of value to you, please let me know and I will arrange an introduction._ **

**_With best regards, your devoted servant, Ordonir_ **

Ordonir thought his chances poor, but worth the paper and a walk to the palace gate. He handed the letter to the adjutant who sorted many such missives to take inside every hour. 

There were only three letters today for Talifür’s secretary. He opened them as soon as delivered. One was a note that sample steel blanks should arrive in Huorëlorn next week. The second was from an astrologer seeking an advantageous discussion. The third was the monthly report from the horse farm forty miles west saying fewer breedings than they hoped were successful. The minister’s last appointment left an hour before so the secretary knocked on the door-jamb and was motioned inside.

Talifür was not a Worm Tongue. He gained his position from force rather than connivance. His secretary approached, bowed and remained standing to say, “We have received word that the first of the steel blanks should be loaded on wagons shortly.”

The Minister’s head hurt. That was more common these days. Frequent contact with Chancellor Selvas did that. Sometimes his bones ached too, a fair exchange for advancement and enhancement of his modest talents in summoning. He leaned back in his chair and asked, “Anything else?”

“Not much, sir. Many of the breedings in Marlbath did not take, same as last year, but we knew that. Then there is this …” He sorted the letters and continued, “The astrologer Ordonir wants to introduce you to a young Quendu from the north.”

“What?”

“It seems the lad believes in consulting the stars and sells jewelry. I would not have bothered you but it is a slow day.”

Talifür knitted his eyebrows and said, “Let me see.” The secretary handed him the note. He read it and wondered, “What do you suppose this is about?”

“I cannot say sir. Shall I inquire?”

“No, it is probably nothing.”

While the secretary was leaving, Talifür helped himself to a goblet of the fine pale wine smuggled from Thranduil’s lands. The unblessed had their uses.

After porridge, Nag Kath returned to the astrologer’s shop with Elurín for the auspices. Elurín seldom smiled or his employer would have reminded him not to. The two Quendu sat while Ordonir shuffled his arcane conclusions. The astrologer cleared his throat and said in august tones, “I have consulted both my records and others, leaving no stone unturned.” Elurín showed no trace of humor.

The soothsayer continued, “It is my considered opinion that the pattern of stars and the auguries they produce favor your desired union. I further believe that the ideal date for you to ask the lady’s parents for her hand is Saturday, March ninth. I realize that is some time away but a strong second will be October twelfth, six weeks hence.” 

Mr. Ordonir shifted in his seat slightly and said, “If the auspices hold and you use the sooner date, AND (he emphasized) your suit is accepted, the best date for the nuptials would be February tenth when the moon will be in alignment with the constellation Soronúmë.”

Young Solvanth gently pushed his retainer’s shoulder with glee, “There, you see! The lass is nearly won.”

His father’s trusted servant said glumly, “A most fortunate pairing, Mr. Solvanth. I must remind you that we are seeing clients within the hour back at the Inthorn.”

“Yes, quite right. Mr. Ordonir, your care is appreciated. Was there any news on our other business?”

The astrologer shook his head, “I have not yet heard.”

Both of the guests rose and the tall one said, “Thank you again for such splendid tidings. Good day.”

It was worth the effort and the soothsayer now knew his alias and where he could be found without it seeming too easy. 

_______________------------_______________

At the same time in the highest council, “What is this news that the northern militias will not train until mid-September! I wanted them in the sun a week ago!”

Lord Meliath was capable of great rages. Impetuous, intemperate and judgmental, he found the world often failed to understand his will. Wine did not improve that. General Tonjum said evenly, “Late wheat for the second harvest was not planted until May because of rain, My Lord.”

His Lord had known that for months. Something else was bothering the ruler of Naitë Mélamar and not one of the people seated around the table was about to ask what. Meliath continued fuming, “Why is it that I cannot be apprised of even the simplest things?! Yesterday I learned that fine Dwarvish diamonds are on sale to peddlers in the city and yet I have not been told!” He looked at his Minister of Trade. 

In most Elvish realms, the community worked as a whole. If you needed something, it was provided. You did what was required in exchange. Naitë was more a mating of Elves and Easterlings. Everyone was out for himself but the Lord had a hand in all of it. The Minister of Trade was, by definition, the taxation authority for the ghard. Every deal, transaction and thing produced was subject to a variety of tariffs. If rare jewels were in the offing, Meliath would have his cut and he wanted the first rights of refusal on the inventory. This would have been impossible in the days when Fëanor was exiled for drawing a sword on his brother, but standards had slipped down here in the south, which was why these provinces were governed as they were in the first place.

Talifür was there on behalf of Selvas, who never attended meetings. The star-gazer had no great love of Trade Minister Flories but he took the pall off the table by saying, “I may be of some use, Rightful Lord. My contacts learned an astrologer of the city consulted a young jeweler just here from the north. Shall I inquire?”

Slightly mollified, Meliath grunted, “Humph.” That meant yes. 

Returning to his office, the Master of Celestial Observance passed his secretary and said, “Bring the astrologer here.” As the clerk rose to comply, Talifür added, “Gently.”

The gray figure emerged from a side room, bowing properly in silence. Meliath looked over, “You heard?”

The Elf answered in a grave, pitiless voice, “Of course. There is more steel coming, yes?”

The Lord answered, “Two large shipments after this sample.” Chancellor Selvas stood as if a statue. His detachment no longer bothered Meliath. The Quendu’s face was gaunt and sallow, as if aging from a disease known only to him. He was thin and always heavily dressed, even now in late summer. Selvas moved slowly with a limp. He never seemed to be in the light.

Selvas rasped, “And the horses?”

“Fewer than we hoped. Lindareth has horses.”

The cold Elf hissed, “Lindareth will need his.”

No one else could speak to the Rightful Lord of Naitë Mélamar thusly. Meliath would have flogged him ten years ago. Today he could not. Meliath’s purpose became their purpose which was now Selvas’ purpose. Meliath could not remember the transitions, they seemed so long ago. Both shared vitriol for the Ñoldorin traitors. Selvas understood. Selvas helped him show his subjects the correctness of such views. Lindareth of the loyal Ñoldor across the Athradduin was now in accord, thanks to Selvas’ persuasion. The neutral lords remained that way, some even sympathetic to the foundlings crowding this blessed land. In time they would see the error of their ways. 

___________-------___________

Ordonir was escorted to the Minister’s office. On sight, Talifür remembered him and peeked at his letter to refresh the name. He accepted an appropriate bow and waved to one of the comfortable chairs across from his magnificent desk. Ordonir sat and was offered tea before they were left alone.

Minister Talifür was charming, “It is good to see you again. Thank you for your note.”

Ordonir was sure he was in no trouble now. When he was abruptly summoned, that was uncertain. He accepted thanks gracefully. Talifür continued, “You mentioned the merchant was guided by the heavens. Please, expand on that." The minister did not mention the lovebird was associated with diamonds finding their way into the mercantile district.

The commercial astrologer thought carefully and replied, “He is a young jeweler who wanted to know the correct time to ask for the hand of a woman of his home Alqualondë. I consulted my charts using their ages and saw that the union was unfettered. I suggested dates for both when to ask and for the ceremony. It seems a favored pairing except for her nearness to an eclipse, which reflects poorly on her parents.”

Talifür agreed, “It seems he appreciated your pains.”

“Indeed, sir. He said his home has drifted away from the guidance of Varda’s stars and was pleased that we here still cherish the old ways ...” he slipped in “… and honor the Light of Trees.”

The minister touched his fingertips together and responded, “There is interest in the young Quendu’s wares. How would I go about meeting him?”

Ordonir was in a fork. If he just told this powerful lord the name and where he was staying, he cut himself out of a commission. If he played too coy, he lost favor forever. Six silvers to the good in a land where old grievances never die, he decided to play straight and see if he could salvage a fee for the introduction. As if he never intended anything else, the astrologer offered, “His name is Solvanth and he is, or was, lodged at the Inthorn, My Lord.”

Talifür suspected the soothsayer was angling for compensation. He did not really care as long as the jeweler paid him. Ordonir might be useful later. Selvas’ new aide sipped more tea and concluded, “I will arrange to discuss his views and be sure to mention how helpful you were. Leave that with me.”

Ordonir thought that acceptable. Being publicly invited to the lord of astrology without force was advertising. The Minister implied he shouldn't contact this Solvanth until later. He would obey.

The next morning, two quiet-men from the palace dropped by the Inthorn and requested a few minutes of the merchant’s time. By now, the firm of Yandieth and Solvanth had five satisfied customers from their more modest line of gems. Word was trickling through the city. Talifür paid attention. 

The guests introduced themselves and were seated in the comfortable suite. By prior understanding, Mr. Solvanth’s assistant was not present. He might need his own face later. Not chosen for subtlety, one of the palace Quendu began, “It has come to the attention of esteemed collectors that you may have jewels on offer.”

The guileless Solvanth brightened, “Why yes. That is my trade. I confess; sales have been slow. It is good to see interest is building.”

The two did not have to look at each other to agree that this was rather better than expected. Was this lad simply inexperienced or just simple? Nag Kath had relied on that mistake many times before. In all his swindles and plots, no one on the other side ever imagined what he wanted – because he never wanted what anyone else would.

The salesman in Solvanth asked more solicitously, “Were you hoping for a private presentation, gentle sirs?”

Taking the bait, the other Quendu answered, “Yes, if that is convenient. I believe our master would be interested in larger stones.”

It was time to set one of many hooks. Solvanth held his chin and wondered, “I have a few, but the main consignment is slated to go to southern lands. Do you know King Thranduil?”

Eight thousand combined years of discipline kept their faces unchanged. Lord Meliath would not be pleased letting the finest stones go to the high-interloper who styled himself a King! Thranduil famously had the best gems in Aman already. He also had other wealth to pay for whatever he wanted, driving-up the price for worthier Caliquendi Elves like Meliath! They would never know the greenbottom had freely given the Mirkwood King greater value than every diamond in Naitë. 

The more senior guest simply asked, “Yes, would tomorrow at four be convenient?”

Solvanth considered his schedule a moment and answered, “That would suit nicely. Will your employer come here?”

The same guest said, “We will arrange an escort for you.” To offset concern this was a robbery, he added, “They will be in the livery of the palace.” Villains in disguise would be unthinkable in Aman.

The cheerful merchant rose, “Then four it is.”

______________------_____________

Elurín sat with his feet on a stool and grumbled, “I must hand it to you; we are in deep now.”

Nag Kath replied thoughtfully, “We were always in deep. What have you discovered about this Talifür?”

“A bit. He is styled the Minister of Celestial Observation but seems more of a quartermaster. The observatory is occupied by another of considerable influence who is not known to subjects. My friends have been watching.” Elurín worded his next comment carefully, “This person is not of the council. He speaks directly to Meliath or others from a position of authority; your Selvas methinks.”

The changeling leaned forward with his full attention. “Has anyone gotten a look at this Selvas?”

“Not anyone who is telling us. If you seek sinister, I think you found it.”

Nag Kath went to his bags and waved his hand over them. Then he stood still as a soft silver glow passed from head to toe. Elurín asked, “Do I want to know that that was?”

“I took the wards off me and my bags. If we are dealing with a sorcerer, I want to be clean. My best defense has always been to seem less than I am.” He thought a moment, “You would have enjoyed me mentioning the consignment for Thranduil.”

The spymaster allowed himself a smile, “Twisting the pills. What inventory will you take?”

Nag Kath grinned as well, “Twenty-five or so, the big Traybor stone for sure and the largest stones with the back cut long to sparkle in light.” He suddenly became quite serious, “I expect to be cheated and do not intend to defend these unless I get a chance to cut Morgoth’s throat. If the louts rob us, we will complain and question their parents’ marriage. They can have them in exchange for a look in that observatory.”

Money meant little to Elurín but the changeling was taking a Duke’s ransom up the hill. Nag Kath used what he had to get what he wanted, the purest form of exchange. ‘Thranduil’s diamonds’ were in his saddle in case the quiet-men ransacked the rooms while the diamond merchants were marketing. 

Elurín was out most of the day gathering what he could on the hidden counselor. That was not much. In this place of ancient alliances, that alone was telling. Every other minister was a public entity and made sure the subjects knew it. Nag Kath knew less of that than anyone in Aman. He hoped these beautiful people could resolve their differences but his primary concern was why the little boy could not remember his horse’s name. The dark ones’ most successful tactic had always been to insinuate from within until their faction was strong enough to seize control. He said as much to Elurín. These Naitë Elves were behaving like men with their Swan symbols – too much like Fûl!

If so, he asked, “Are there those here in Arnost who disagree or actively oppose this isolation and discord?”

Cirdan had discussed this with Elurín before they left. Nag Kath could not know who, but acknowledging resistance was grudgingly permitted. The senior Elf answered, “Yes, but we are not in league with them.”

The conversation took a twist, “I need a look at the healer Daelor.”

__________--------__________

Nag Kath spent the afternoon on the roof of a building across from the healer’s apartment. The home was not ideal for surveillance, or being a healer, since those needing help had to negotiate two flights of stairs to reach the door. A plainly dressed woman left and returned after shopping. The door was unlocked. Elurín watched the back door of the apartment building which did not open once. After dark, Elurín took the front entrance while Nag Kath returned to their lodgings, appearing to be a normal guest. Quiet-men might ask about his comings and goings.

In the morning, Nag Kath took a Lembas cake to the watcher. A patient limped up the stairs and was admitted after knocking. He was limping when he left. The changeling was still as the grave for a minute.

Elurín did not expect what happened next. Nag Kath sneaked off the roof and made his way to the street in front of the healer’s. Then he put his left forearm through an iron gate and jerked, cleanly snapping the smaller bone above the wrist. Elurín winced just watching. He saw the changeling grip the top of the gate with the bad hand and lift his feet off the sidewalk for a moment. Then Nag Kath supported the broken arm with the good one and loped up the stairs. 

The maid/housekeeper opened the door and saw the young Quendu in obvious pain. He grimaced, “Excuse me. I seem to have broken my arm. Is the healer Daelor at home?”

She swung the door wider and said, “Please come in. My mistress is just in the back. I won’t be a moment.” 

The Quenda disappeared into what Nag Kath took to be the residence and was back within two minutes with another woman who seemed quite like Celebrían. Neither of them wore rings of matrimony. Daelor asked, “My, my, what have you done young sir?”

He sheepishly admitted, “A bit careless, ma’am. I think I did myself a damage.” He emphasized the afflicted area by raising it with the good hand.

She helping him out of his jacket and had him sit in an examination chair. The sleeve gather was already untied so she gently slid that back to show bruised swelling. The healer gently probed around the area and observed, “Clean, it almost seems set.”

“That is my doing, ma’am. I stretched it as soon as it happened, something my mother told me.”

“Your mother was right. I will need to put this in a splint and you mustn’t use your arm for a week.” With that she pulled a heavy linen sock over the arm and lashed conventional water-reed splines from wrist to elbow. A long bandana sling completed the care. 

“Thank you for your pains. Are there remedies that will help the healing?”

She looked at him for a moment and then walked to her herb cabinet. With a smile, “This tea may help, though most think the taste is worse than the wound. Do you know the substance Lutriel?”

“Not by that name.”

“Uhm, fenniwort?”

Not a sorcerous remedy. And she was right about the taste. Not even goats will eat it. He shook his head. She took a jar from her cubby and pinched several clumps into a sack while her patient scanned the room for anything useful. Nag Kath was not in his best clothes but wasn’t poor either. He exclaimed, “This is a blessing. How much do I owe you for your care?”

“A silver, or whatever you can afford, young Quendu.” Less than celestial advice. 

Using his good hand he dug in the opposite pocket for a coin saying, “This is from Middle-earth. I hope it will serve.”

The healer said deliberately, “Mirian, please brew a mug of Lutriel tea for our patient. I think his healing should start straightaway.” The maid nodded and took the pouch before leaving to heat the kettle. Daelor added carefully, “We do not see these coins here often.”

“They are more common in Alqualondë, ma’am, the gold ones too.”

As if killing time she asked, “Is this your first trip to Arnost?”

“It is. My father’s firm had business here and he thought it would be a good opportunity, except for my witless stumble.” He continued as if trying to fill awkward silence, “But it is the strangest thing; I have met several people in just the last week who seemed quite witless also, confused, even though they live here. I do not suppose you have tea for clarity in your medicines?”

She forced a smile, “Nay, sir. I do not know of herbs for that complaint.”

“Perhaps it is simply the fine wine of this region. Back home, one would use Athae Áma for relief.” That was Elrond’s remedy. He had dragged her in. Even Gandalf’s sending him here would not excuse him for what could come of this. It was said there were five or six great healers in the Undying Lands. She was one of them. His grandfather in-law was another and Nag Kath had joined the list. 

Daelor sat down and put her hands in her lap, very much like Celebrían did when she was thinking. Without looking up she asked, “Who are you?”

He handed her the letter from Gandalf. She took it firmly and cracked the seal on the edge of her writing table. It was brief. Daelor folded it into a pocket in her pinafore and became very businesslike, “Confused doesn’t begin to describe thick heads in Arnost, Mr. Healer. If you are here, this is no longer confined to our lands.” She raised her eyebrow and he nodded to confirm.

Nag Kath interrupted her and untied his splint. Grabbing above the break, he drove bright silver through his right hand into the wound until the other hand glowed and then slowly faded. Grasping a fist several times, he re-wrapped the splint. Daelor stared. Kath was one of the Maiar! Her benighted land finally attracted attention from on high for the wrong reasons. It was past time but it was also frightening. She asked, “Are you here for those of us who …”

“Please, I work unseen. Do not reveal anything you do not want me to repeat. My job here is to have a close look at a dark advisor to Meliath. I will form other conclusions too, but he, or she, is the subject.”

Mirian brought forth a truly foul-smelling concoction and put it on the little table nearest Nag Kath’s chair. It has steeped long enough to be tepid. He swallowed it all with orcish tolerance and thanked the wincing maid/nurse. Daelor nodded that the woman could continue preparing the evening meal.

Nag Kath scraped his tongue against his teeth and looked around for something else wet. His healer produced the dregs of this morning’s tea. He breathed heavily and said, “I will be brief. I am here masquerading as a diamond merchant from the north. This afternoon we have an appointment with Talifür to see where that gets us.”

She said calmly, “He is a fraud.”

“Is he a wizard, or sorcerer, perhaps?”

“I think so, but not strong.” She grimaced again, both for what he did to his arm and gulping that odious tea.

Nag Kath pressed, “Meliath?”

“His unlordly tendencies are more pronounced in the last ten years, five especially.”

“Confused?”

She said demurely, “To be charitable.”

“And Selvas?”

She grew very still before saying, “He is the darkness. If what you did to your bone is why you are here, he is your villain. I have never seen him. Sometimes I think I can feel him. My blood runs cold.”

Faster than she could see, he grasped her wrist gently but firmly and his hand turned silver again. She tried to yank it away from instinct but then did not resist. It was over in seconds. He said, “I am sorry but I had to know. You are fine. Do you have drawing sorcery?”

That was a deep secret, “Some.”

“If anyone asks, you saw a patient with a broken arm. I will not come here again except at great need. If you want to speak, leave your back window shade half open.”

Daelor was silent. He nodded and walked out favoring the splinted arm.

______________------_____________

“Was that wise, Nag Kath?”

“Not really, but in my method, I cause problems and assess the results. If she is one of the few people in this land who can sniff-out a dark wizard, her days are already numbered. The bad ‘uns always kill the healers first.”

“You broke your own arm and then healed it?”

“It is still sore. I do not think there will be enough residual power to detect. Is there any word who we see this afternoon?”

“No, but I haven’t asked. I intended to act the guard and be armed.”

Nag Kath considered that and said, “Do not protest overmuch if your sword is demanded. The higher we get, the less likely they want to be near steel.”

Elurín smiled, “That is why I brought my lesser sword. Yours is a fine blade, but the worse for use.”

The changeling told him how he found it and how reclaiming it from the troll’s forehead caused the damage. No one in the northern gardhs recognized the former owner. It was with the horses along with his bow and quiver. Using ‘the fast’ he would grab the nearest weapon.

Well before they were due, four palace ohtars arrived at the Inthorn. The guards were seen from the window but they let the innkeeper come up to say they were wanted. The diamond merchants walked downstairs, each with a small case. The senior guard said, “Sirs, if you will follow us.”

It took nearly half a bell to reach the palace. Both of them had wandered by separately but made no attempt to penetrate. But for this invitation they would have visited under cover of night. The gates were opened on sight and they weaved their way up to what seemed a higher administrative area just like almost every other capital on either side of the Belegaer. The guards took them inside a suite of rooms until they reached a clerk behind a standing desk. He rose to exchange bows and dismissed the guards.

“Thank you for coming, sirs. Please be seated. Master Talifür will be with you shortly. Sir, I would ask you to leave your sword with me.” Nag Kath nodded as planned before his bodyguard removed the full belt and handed it to the secretary.

The changeling could feel slight power. This was exactly the man they needed to see first. Before long, the minister himself came out of his office to welcome them. They rose and bowed according to rank and followed him into a spacious office with two windows overlooking an inner courtyard of the palace proper. It was not near, and had no view of, what Nag Kath thought was an observatory. If this fellow was star-gazing, he didn’t do it from here. 

When they were seated, Talifür opened with, “It is Mr. Solvanth and mister …?”

Elurín said, “Festular, My Lord, aide to Mr. Solvanth.”

The counselor said affably, “Is this your first visit to Arnost, Mr. Solvanth?”

“It is, sir, though our family has done business in Eldamar for long years.”

There was no use pretending they were here for anything other than the gems so the Minister cut the small-talk to the minimum required for courtesy. When that was done he said, “I understand you are in the jewelry business.”

Solvanth the younger took that, “Yes, we came into stones from the mines of Erebor that are unusually fine. Many have found homes to the north and customers told us of persons who appreciate such things here and further south.”

The young Elf was not sophisticated enough to gauge the response. What had Elurín said; twisting the pills? 

Talifür smoothly kept the flow by saying, “Then you may be in luck. There are more here with such tastes.” Folk who could help with the young Quendu’s hapless marketing effort.

Festular, obviously an elder advisor to the fledgling namesake, said, “That is fortunate, Minister. Alas, many of our stores are already under contract, but we still have some larger offerings available. May we ask the parties concerned?”

It would come to this sooner or later so Talifür admitted, “No less than his Lordship.”

Festular looked at his employer who nodded. Very slowly, the aide opened his small valise and removed a fine, blue sack of fabric unknown here. The Elf poured the stones into his palm and then laid them on the side of the bag before sliding it to the Minister. Talifür chose one of the medium sizes for a closer inspection. Nag Kath offered him a fire-glass which Elves seldom use. The Minister accepted it and looked for quite a while. 

Among the stones was the magnificent Traybor. Talifür went out of his way not to examine that. These were real. Meliath would want them. Everyone would want them. They would want Thranduil’s stones too. This would get messy. The Minister was also at something of a disadvantage because he had no idea what these were worth. His wife had a two tiny diamonds. He knew the price of the smaller gems sold to local merchants but these were not like oats where a big bag was twice the price of a little one. One of those sparklers was almost the size of his fingernail. The blue one was worth many times more. 

Talifür knew Meliath was sinking all of this year’s taxes into armaments. Would he simply confiscate these gems and make himself an outlaw among allies he needed so badly? That was not Talifür’s concern. He had his instructions. And what of Selvas? There would be no diamonds for his diadem. He was as plain as a farmer’s widow. Selvas’s new aide was sure the lurking chancellor’s opinion would carry the day. Talifür slid the bag back to Festular and said, “I believe Lord Meliath would like to see these. He is not available just now. Will you await his pleasure?”

Solvanth considered that before saying, “Yes, we are in your Lord’s lands and will respect his will. But we must leave within two weeks. Will your liege return by then?”

The Minister offered a practiced smile, “He is in the city but busy with matters of state. Your obligations should present no difficulty.” Talifür would not discuss price. He was entranced by the wares, but if he was to come by one of those rocks personally, it would be through the good offices of his Lord. The new Minister was now at the lower edge of those who benefited from proximity. 

Nag Kath wasn’t finished. He looked around the office and said, “Oh, that is a fair representation of the constellation of Valacirca. My mother was born in its ascendance.” He hoped he wouldn't have to know when that was.

Talifür remembered; that was right! The youngster took guidance from the stars. While the Minister formulated his response; the merchant rose and asked, “May I look sir?”

“Why of course, Mr. Solvanth. Your little stars remind us of Varda’s grace.” Festular seemed less enthralled.

Nag Kath walked to a hanging display of finely wrought silver wires with glass beads where the primary stars formed the sickle. It was one of the Minister’s favorite possessions and reminded him of possible leverage in supplying Lord Meliath with baubles. Talifür joined him. This youngster was a tall one. The Lord could not see a decided bloodline, but he wasn’t a Silvan newly from the peat-fields of the east. 

As the Minister touched the central star, the little glass bead next to it fell from its mounting. Solvanth and the Minister both reached out to catch it at the same time with Talifür’s hand lying on top of the jeweler’s. The minister closed his fist and said, “That was a stroke of luck. I will have it repaired shortly.”

Putting the bead on his desk, Talifür said he would be in touch as soon as his Lordship’s schedule allowed.

___________-----___________

There was more of Listracht in Elurín than he knew. He mumbled when they were out of earshot, “How did you work that glass bit loose?”

“That was a small bringing-spell. The last time I used it was for a chicken cutlet. He didn’t notice so he is not strong. But he is getting power from somewhere. That was why I needed to touch him. And this is not one of my crude potions.” Nag Kath stopped and looked into Elurín’s eyes. “This is pure darkness.”

His loyal aide offered, “His Lordship will not be so easy to fondle.” 

Nag Kath stifled a giggle. That meant something quite different in Khand. He kept walking and said, “He is not the source. We need a look at Selvas.” The changeling stopped again and frowned, “What is it about Elves and jewels?! Melkor stole the Silmarils to the destruction of two Ages! This whole foolishness came from a jewel theft. Dwarves were the same with that Arkenstone and the dragons wanted wealth too.”

Elurín answered thoughtfully with six thousand years of experience, “They represent purity, the highest ideal, clean and perfect.”

“I traded these for the mithril band constructed to return Morgoth from the void on the condition that the Dwarves melted it in my presence. They get silly over that metal too. Dark lords don’t work cheap.”


	9. Selvas as Vessel

**_Chapter 9_ **

**_Selvas as Vessel_ **

It wasn’t until the morning two days later when a runner from the palace asked the merchants to return that afternoon. Until then they had done absolutely nothing but take their meals at easy-to-watch restaurants. 

They walked up by themselves with the quiet-men falling in behind them just inside the gates. Bypassing the confusing corridor to Talifür’s office, the four turned onto a wider and more ornate walkway with statuary and paintings of old. One more corner brought them to a reception hall where sat a great Lord on his elevated chair. Only kings truly had thrones, but lords run their gardhs the way they want. Both merchants bowed deeply and waited with proper deference.

Meliath was of the Teleri faction Falmari, those who did not leave Aman to return to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath. The clan was much divided and warred with the Ñoldorin in the Kinslaying. Less well-known was that they fought themselves too. Meliath’s father never forgave those who were pardoned after being banned from these sacred lands. Peace-loving Teleri welcomed the Ñoldor after noble service against enemies. When father Meliandar refused to join against Melkor, he was forced to accept the gift of ground here. He brought his followers to this fertile country, away from the internecine strife of the bay. They flourished until Meliandar’s horse landed on him. The tempestuous son inherited his father’s reign and animosity but not his competence. The land still fruitful. With time and distance, they were still kin to the Teleri, but not brothers, which was why Meliander was given underdeveloped Naitë Mélamar in the first place.

The gardh lacked stature. It was vast, the largest in eastern Aman, with river frontage and a long coastline. It was also the most populous of the lower gardhs at nearly sixty thousand subjects, better than fifteen thousand in this city alone. That was not the same as prestige. The great councils, battles and heroes of Elvendom were around the bay and island or inland in Valinor-proper. Northerners said Meliath had his lands and was welcome to them. That alone rankled. The recent arrival of the great Middle-earth lords on his borders put a finger in his eye.

Impotent rage found an ear. Twelve years ago, whispers came to him from one who only wanted to help. The voice told him he was correct in his lonely pursuit of a Teleri people as they should have been. His people were owed reparations. They deserved the right to rejoin the families who exiled him to this southern land. Perhaps he even represented the true Teleri kingship. Others agreed with him. He must not lose hope.

Gradually, Meliath found expression for his rancor. His habits changed. Voices found him awake and at rest. He had less use for his father’s councilors. He added his own. Six years ago Selvas was sent to him from those who understood. The Elf master would help with the practical work of preparing for the world as Meliath and his friends desired. The Lord sent his simpering, barren wife back to her parents, unheard of in their society and appalling those of the north he most wanted to please. Selvas told him they were not ready for the work yet to come. Let them stew in doubt.

Three years ago, Selvas went to Farnëmar to explain things to the haughty Lindareth. He found adherents. Now he spoke to Vantieth and lesser servants directly. The neutrals were still uncooperative. Meliath would deal with them in the time of retribution. First, he needed to settle with Galadriel – Galadriel who tricked and embarrassed him by lying in wait when his men redressed the wholesale annexing of western lands. Naitë had never claimed them for lack of settlers, but she could not have them! Between Galadriel and the Rightful Lord was the contested region with no lordship. They would be shown that is not how Elves were born to live. 

Elurín knew quite a bit of that and Nag Kath knew enough. The great Lord took his eyes away from the window and looked at the diamond merchants. He should simply order them to leave their wares on their way out the door. Talifür delivered on his boast to have them bow before the rightful lord so he would hear their story. Selvas was in his quarters, as always. 

Meliath said loudly, “You deal in gemstones, yes?”

The taller, blonde one answered, “Yes, Your Lordship, we do.”

“Where did you get them?”

That was one of the questions Nag Kath would use to spin the narrative. He replied, “They are said to be of the Dwarf mines below Angbad, sir, possibly of Thingol’s treasury. Banished refugees (an unflattering term) kept them against need.”

Meliath’s eyes bore into them thinking he was intimidating. The two merchants played their parts but had already measured the steps to the nearest swords. Nag Kath wondered if he should settle this right now. No, Morgoth was the target and still no more than mist.

The Elf Lord leaned back in his chair and spoke, “I would see these jewels.”

Festular took them forward and then looked to a guard to ask, “Do you have a board or stand to present these to His Lordship?” A small table was brought in front of Meliath’s raised chair and the merchant showed the same gems in the same way he had for the Minister. Then he backed two steps away and bowed again.

The Lord knew they were real from Talifür’s inspection. The big white one was lordly but the blue one was sublime. He grew angry. That happened more these days. Were these peddlers, Teleri themselves by the evidence, bringing better than this to Thranduil, Thranduil who was born in the east and was here taking the best things unto himself?!

Meliath held it in. “Have you others?”

Nag Kath took that question from where he remained standing, some fifteen feet behind his aide at the table, “Those are all we have that are not under contract, Your Lordship.” The youngster looked at his man and pulled another gem from his pocket, “No, wait, I do have this small blue stone. They were called Traybors of old.” He nodded for permission to approach holding the diamond between his thumb and forefinger. The Lord of Naitë held out his hand for the merchant to drop the jewel but the youngster lowered his pinched fingers until they touched His Lordship’s palm. Nag Kath released the diamond, deeply imbued with sorcerous cravings he remembered from the Dwarf-ring along with his own spell in the touching.

Meliath held it, transfixed. He was already susceptible to desire. This felt better than Selvas’ counsel. Why shouldn’t a great lord own great things?! Young Solvanth interrupted the reverie by saying, “Please keep that as a token of respect from the house of Yandieth and Solvanth.”

The Rightful Lord sat still with the little diamond in his large palm. Even his own courtiers were concerned when the voluble Meliath was silent so long. Finally, he slowly closed his hand around the jewel and looked at the tall junior partner saying tersely, “Tell my councilors your terms for these.” He nodded and the audience was concluded. The merchants gathered their things and bowed on the way out. No councilors got in the way to hear those terms so they walked back towards the inn, stopping at a restaurant for an early dinner and goblet of wine.

______________------_____________

Elurín waited for the server to leave and said softly, “He didn’t see you flinch when you touched his hand.”

“I gave better than I got, replacing the current spell. He is in the stew. All the Rightful Lord will be able to think about now are those diamonds.”

“Setting a cat among dark pigeons!”

Nag Kath agreed, “This should force something. And I can find that little diamond within two or three hundred paces. I’ll wager he keeps it close. What do you suppose we should charge for the rocks?”

“Enough to disrupt iron shipments.”

Nag Kath agreed, “That is a good point. We may need several trips to negotiate. Whatever the tally; young Solvanth will discount it for a tour of the celestial observatory, being such a devoted lad.”

“You are devious for such an upstanding yrch.”

“No argument there. If needs be, can your lord blockade Huorëlorn?”

Elurín nodded, “If he does, my city of Vilënost is put to the sword.”

The changeling retorted grimly, “If he rides on Galadriel, he will put paid to those who brought her just as fast, or Lindareth will.”

Elurín stared at the changeling and changed the subject, “If sorcery is involved, that makes it all the worse.”

Nag Kath shook his head, “Perhaps. Without putting too fine a point on it; if Meliath had any eggs he could have mopped the countryside with the northern mountain gardhs any time he wanted. Instead he involves Farnëmar to little effect, divorces his wife to gall his homeland and announces his purpose like a Catanard villain.”

Elurín stared again. Nag Kath explained, “Catanard; a musical play that Elves hate worse than a barrel of orcs.” In his Elf Lord demeanor, which the spymaster had not seen before, Nag Kath continued, “No, someone is trying to bring the dark one back. He needs the Eldamar in flames.”

___________-----___________

Talifür was rousted from his wakeful rest. It had happened before. His lovely wife kissed him against their Lord’s famous temper and comforted their daughter who was too young to understand. Their quarters were some distance from Meliath’s apartments. He dressed and walked back with the attendant, wishing he was a fisherman and not subject to the desires Selvas found in him. The minister was not in as deep as Vantieth yet, but he was in too far to escape. He entered his ruler’s chambers, bowed and waited.

Meliath was standing by a window chewing on a knuckle. Nag Kath did not know just how much power he had embedded in the spell, mostly because he did not understand how gems could intoxicate certain of the Eldar. They represented perfect light among the perfectly light beings. Almost the entire tragedy of Elvendom could be traced to the blind lust for jewelry. Another thing the changeling did not know was that the gemstones in the world were overwhelmingly in Middle-earth so what they had was all they would get. Meliath seethed knowing that, and that short, hairy Dwarves would dig them out of loathsome pits in the earth for less than they were worth.

And now, NOW, the finest of those were here in his capital. Barely containing his rage, he barked at his master of the skies, “What do those thieves want for their diamonds?”

“I cannot say, My Lord. The little ones were selling for twenty-six Flurin each.”

“What of Thranduil’s consignment?”

Talifur lamely offered, “We only know they might exist but not how many or what kind. The ones you saw are all they have on left on offer.”

Meliath growled, “Well find out.” When his lord was silent, the star-gazer bowed and left. On his way home, he reminded himself not to be so clever in council. He could not go to the common inn himself or all bargaining position was lost. He could not send his civilians. They knew nothing about diamonds. The realm was not dripping in gold thanks to Meliath’s intemperate spending. Naitë was prosperous, yes, but not for luxuries like Dwarvish gemstones on top of armaments! When he got home he was too distracted for rest of any kind. He wished Selvas was here. The Chancellor had ridden to the horse farm to survey the herd. He would not be pleased either.

As they anticipated, the jewelers were having first tea when the quiet-men arrived. They would present themselves at the Minister’s office forthwith. The diamonds were safe. With nothing else to get, they walked out the door and followed the servants back to Talifür’s. 

The Master tried to be charming again but was met with Festular’s comment, “Lordly hosts ask politely. Why are we summoned like chattel?”

Talifür preferred it that way, “His Lordship wants to know your price for the diamonds you showed the other day.”

Solvanth the younger said, “We sold one of the star cut yesterday. What is left; call it eighteen-hundred eighty Flurin.”

Talifür had no idea if that was fair but merchants were thieves so he dickered, “Absurd. You waste our time.” 

The two jewelers looked at each other and said almost in unison, “Sorry to bother you.” Festular added, “We will be on our way after porridge.” 

As they turned on their heels, the Minister said, “Not so fast.” They stopped but it was still his Lordship’s turn. He increased the bet, “And what price for false King Thranduil’s jewels?”

Young Solvanth said, “Those have already been paid for.”

Talifür was losing. “How could the payment from such a despot matter?”

Festular grinned before replying, “Those were bought by High King Olwë of Tol Eressëa to present King Thranduil for services rendered. If your lord picks his King’s pocket, the puckering will squeeze dragon tears. Eighteen-hundred fifty for what you saw and that is final.”

That wasn’t the only thing being squeezed. Talifür could hardly breathe. His small ray of sunshine was when Solvanth turned to his aide to say, “None of this was seen. We should consult the positions.”

The disciplined Festular shot back, “The stars will not guide here, young sir. This is old-fashioned robbery.”

Solvanth held firm, “We shall do what we must, but I would like guidance.” He turned to the Minister, “Sir, I would like to visit your observatory where I might make sense of this goat’s breakfast. Where can we stay until night is high?”

His former tower was strictly off limits now that Selvas had taken possession, but the crippled Elf would not be back from the farm until tomorrow afternoon. Bloody Meliath! “Very well. You will be taken to an apartment where you will stay until I send for you.” He walked to the door and said to his secretary, “Take them to Kuisle room and feed them well.”

His tone broached no further questions so the secretary told the diamond merchants, “Please come with me.”

“Why didn’t you just shine that light in his face and tell him to take us upstairs?”

“Selvas would spot the power like a filed nipper. I very well may. That was quite a performance about the King of the Teleri. Is that his name?”

“Last I looked. Hope he won’t mind me stretching the truth. When we are upstairs, what do I need to do?”

Nag Kath grinned, “Look piqued and start handling fragile objects. Let us see if we can put a twist in his Lordship’s underwear.”

Dinner was good – and unpoisoned. The days were getting shorter and it was probably about the nine-bell when two palace guards knocked on the door and fetched the jewelers. Talifür met them at his office door and they walked silently upwards for quarter-bell until reaching a stout door in a solid stone wall. The Minister jerked his head at the escutcheon and one of the guards unlocked it. The same man lit a torch in a stand just inside the door and another to take upstairs. Nag Kath counted one-hundred eighteen steps until they reached apartments that smelled worse than any Elvish place he had been. 

Talifür dogged their steps with the torch but he had the guard stay outside on the stair landing. Solvanth was not impressed, “Not many stars here. Are these your quarters?”

“No.”

“What’s upstairs?”

“That is open to the sky.”

Nag Kath said to his aide, “Stay here, I won’t be long.”

Talifür countermanded, “You both stay where I can see you. You want stars, we all go up.”

They trooped up one more flight. Young Solvanth made a show of observing the largely cloudy sky, feeling the power of an ordinary round stone set apart from the battlement on a pedestal. So, that’s how he is doing it! He knew his calling stones after Erech and Amrûn. The merchant son said firmly, “I have seen enough. Eighteen-hundred thirty Flurin.” Without pausing, he walked back through the fetid room and down the stairs with the Minister of Celestial Observance and loyal retainer close behind. 

______________------_____________

On the way to the inn Elurín said, “Nasty place.”

Nag Kath said nothing. Elurín knew not to repeat the probe. It was another block before the changeling agreed, “Nasty place. Our guide felt the same. I need a look at whoever lives there. He hasn’t been gone long.”

“By the smell?”

“By the power. This is an order of villain I haven’t seen before. But it is very sloppy, not just the quarters but the magical traces. It was like a leaky bag dribbling on the floor, more energy than the vessel could handle.”

They found an alcove before their rooms and sat on a bench. Nag Kath was still deep in thought. Elurín waited. Finally the youngster confided, “You know this far better than me, but it was said in his prime, Morgoth had unrivaled powers except for Erú himself. He could create orcs and dragons and Balrogs with ease from lesser creatures plucked from the void. The dark lord must be barely a puff of smoke if the best he can do is a reeking Elf dripping magic like an unswaddled toddler.”

Elurín added, “Among other drippings. Yes, the servants came in a range of capacities. Unchecked, they got worse. We have other matters too; eighteen-hundred thirty Flurin.”

The changeling mused, “Curious; that. In Gondor or Khand, there are merchants who bejewel their daughters on their birthdays. Dwarves sit on hills of gold. But here, a gardh Lord has to haggle like a wool peddler over gems he will only see once. How insulting that the rabble of Middle-earth could buy and sell Meliath. That was why I wanted to spread the word so it would filter up poorly – too late to raise taxes. Meliath should have gobbled the diamonds like a dragon. Do you suppose the old boy is light on the ready?”

After Nag Kath explained the colloquial saying, Elurín answered, “It makes sense. He might negotiate hard over timber and boots, but to embarrass himself over a luxury … yes, I think gold is thin and this Talifür knows it, though why an astrologer is involved is beyond me.”

“If a dark one is pulling the strings, he needs a lesser sorcerer of any sort, and an astrologer would be an apt candidate. They aren’t three a groat. We only know two here. The men in Farnëmar and their minions add to that, less the one on the border. Later, officers will have to train troops for siege attack and fording rivers if defenders destroy the bridges. They will not slay their fellow Elves without unnatural hate.”

Elurín offered, “The public seems to be in a bother about foreigners. Put as a matter of pride and loyalty, they may fall in line. I will ask questions of my friends.”

______________------_____________

Naitë Mélamar did not mine gold. They had traded for it over the years for their other abundant resources in the eastern side of the gardh. Like many places in Middle-earth, land mattered more and that was all in the same noble families largely created before Meliath’s father accepted his huge fief of exile. The son had been spending the taxes for war-footing since Selvas appeared. It was subtle and gradual, but outflows had been eating into reserves. The Kath was exactly right that news of these gems arrived too late for a new, orderly tariff. If he was going to spend that kind of cash on these diamonds, those regional nobles, including a pair of Meliath's sisters' husbands, would have to pay more, and soon.

That was fine by Talifür. This would settle old scores to the benefit of their vision. The lords should be proud to contribute. He also knew they would not see it that way. They already had the best land. Why did Meliath need diamonds? Was it that others of greater prestige had them? The other option was to simply confiscate the gems. That would be as good as a formal notice to quit the Teleri clan and remove them from any influence in their homelands of Alqualondë and Tol Eressëa. It they took Thranduil’s gems, which the merchants said were still the property of High King Olwë, they would be outcast. The peddlers couldn’t just disappear after such a public visit.

Not that it mattered to the Celestial Minister but Naitë's real lack was weapons-quality steel, and the weapons themselves. The ignorant Nag Kath assumed Elves all had masterpiece swords, lovingly handed-down through the ages. What no one told him was that relatively few Elves kept blade-steel over the mantle, especially here. Until lately, these were the pacifist Teleri. Only the small, permanent army and traditional militias were armed. For Meliath to put his fief on attack-footing, they needed thousands more swords, pikes, shields and suits of armor, not to mention all the iron bits for wagons, arrowheads and a hundred other uses. The changeling did know that was a noisy, smelly business needing coal or wood in quantity, not Nag Kath's traditional view of Elvish labor. Whoever they bought their steel from couldn't know the end-use either so Naitë had to fashion war-craft themselves, out of earshot.

In the morning, the star-gazer walked to the offices of Dedriole of the Purse. The Lord's clacker knew to the silver what was in the coffers. He was not of those who understood old powers were being used, but he did know the moods of Meliath. This was official business.

“Good morning, Talifür. Tea?”

“Thank you, yes. I apologize for coming unannounced but our liege is considering a purchase outside of the budget.”

It had happened before. Dedriole was not alarmed. He received and doled the largess, but did not decide where it went. The elegant Quendu leaned back in his chair and sipped the perfect blend. It was still Talifür’s topic. “Eighteen-hundred and thirty, in gold, in exchange for Dwarvish diamonds just in from Alqualondë.”

Dedriole put his mug on the desk and asked, “So it is true ... this exchange; is it to be held in reserve against future payments?”

The Celestial Interpreter’s dead face said otherwise. The Purse-man concluded, “I though as much. Horses, diamonds or steel; you can have two of the three, and the foundry does not offer credit. Flurin for the next ship of steel is already in Huorëlorn. The last is in the vault.”

Talifür nodded grimly and rose. On his way out, Dedriole called, “Let me know when you can.”

___________-----___________

There was nothing for it now. His Lord told him to make a price. He had. It was out of his hands. The Master of Celestial Observation made the short walk to the Lord’s Chamberlain and said he needed five minutes in a tone suggesting he was expected. He sat on the empty bench. There were no petitioners. Meliath now had an arbiter settle all disputes below the level of the noble families. Only administrative people saw Lord Meliath and most tried not to. After half a bell, an attendant collected the forlorn Minister and walked him to the reception room. The Lord was at a side table eating his breakfast. He did not motion his counselor to sit. 

Talifür reported, “I received a bid of eighteen-hundred eighty Flurin for the stones presented. I have them down to eighteen-hundred thirty, but they said that was final. I told them the decision was yours, My Lord.”

“And the diamonds destined for the traitor?”

“Those are the property of Olwë until delivered.”

Meliath had no ready answer for that. Sending a great grandniece back was one thing. Pinching the King’s jewels, in both senses of the meaning, was another. Before the Lord forked-in another bite he growled, “Get me those gems.”

______________------_____________

Selvas arrived at his quarters late that night desperately tired after visiting the farms and foundries near the central forests. In this land of wakeful rest, he needed sleep. It was unfair but temporary, the best he could manage. 

Selvas was Úmaiar; a class of Maiar corrupted by Melkor or Sauron into their service. His spirit had floated in Aman since the trees were destroyed, almost like Orlo was reduced to a vision for a few days a year. When the spider Ungoliant was in the deep south, he was her servant. She covered Melkor’s escape in shadow and when they left, Selvas was alone and without form.

Melkor was consigned to the void. But the dark lord was not destroyed, only banished. Long years did he wait. And like an aging waterskin, the void leaked. Barely fifty cycles ago, a crease in the east was plugged. His master had to look for other outlets. Selvas learned from the spider of a place in the south where time and space folded upon themselves, invisible to the naked eye, but still a flaw in the fabric. Selvas’ spirit floated outside, listening to where his lord would eventually probe for weakness. Twelve cycles ago, he heard the thoughts. Selvas spoke to his lord as a good servant should. Words did not exchange, but there was understanding. 

Morgoth needed turmoil. He needed disruption large enough to tear the wall and shield his escape. Selvas would find that for him. Two Elf lords here in the south were incensed that a great many of Melkor’s old enemies were returning to this land. Those refugees could ruin his emergence since they knew the dark lord and his servants better than those who stayed. But the rift between the Elvish peoples was ideal. 

Selvas needed physical form. In the world of men, he could have simply entered the being and taken charge. In this world of self-healing immortals, he must diminish one first. There were farmers in his cold south, scratching crops from the gravel. The Umaiar found he could talk to one, not in words but in thought. The Quendu lived alone. For three years, Selvas corrupted his mind. The Elf was dissatisfied. He should do what he wanted, ignoring the disciplines that made him an Elf. The farmer weakened. He did not care for his body, ate poor foods and neglected all that mattered. His crops failed. As he lay dying in despair, he was finally weak enough for the spirit Úmaia to enter his flesh.

What Selvas could not have anticipated was that once he possessed the body, it did not heal like an Elf should. The farmer’s body lived, but it was still feeble and needed rest. It would have to do. Now flesh, he walked here to see his lord’s will done. The Úmaiar had not forgotten how to control weak minds. He learned to poison emotions. He was learning to far-speak, though he still needed to return to his lair in the deep south to talk with dark Melkor where his gaolers were not listening. It was painful, but pain is the price of glorious service. 

That service was trying. He had the body of a weakling to influence the mind of a weakling. That the ruler here was susceptible to the darkness unavoidably made him inconstant. A better creature would have never let him in. Before finding form, the spirit of Selvas visited the witch Galadriel in her realm. She sensed him and cast him out. The eastern exiles had powers from fighting Melkor that those who stayed did not. It would not save them.

______________------_____________

A window-shade was left half down in the commercial quarter. The next morning, Nag Kath wrapped his splint around the arm and went back for his evaluation. Daelor answered the door herself and showed him in silently. Then she sat where she had before. Nag Kath took a chair. The healer confessed, “I was not entirely forthcoming with you.”

He said nothing. She should not have been entirely forthcoming. He certainly wasn’t. The woman continued, “The advisor in the tower is not an Elf.”

He responded slowly, “I think only part Elf.”

She pursed her lips, “You said it better than me. Another healer in the city, one of my pupils, attended a servant who was there for only a day. He had the confusion you spoke of. It passed. That was two years ago. Others can get closer to him now.”

She swallowed and added, “Three weeks ago, a young officer-of-horse was here with a training injury that was poorly healed in camp. I needed to reopen the wound and stitch it better. He talked to ignore the pain. In the northwest, militias are already in the field. Food, weapons and such are arriving in halting shipments. They were told the mountain traitors are preparing to take his Lordship’s farmland.”

The younger healer did not seem surprised. He said, “I need to speak to this officer. Is he still here?”

“I cannot say. His name is Nambecur, of a soldierly family. He is a believer. Do not expect cooperation.”

He gave her a grim smile, “Those are the best answers." Humor evaporated, "You should leave, and leave quickly.”

She stayed calm, “Will this ohtar be linked to me?”

“Not if I do this well. You are at risk because you can sense magic. This Chancellor reeks of it. Some folk may feel anxious or uneasy around him. It could make you quite ill and betray his disguise. Soon every healer and sorcerer in the land will be brought into dark service or slain. The Quendu I am with will return to the coast when I ride inland. You must go with him. Do you have a horse?”

“No. What of Mirian? She has been my faithful helper for long years.”

“She can go too, but there can be no farewells. Say you are attending her aunt in Huorëlorn and disappear. I am sorry, but your position has been perilous for years.”

Daelor seemed to relax. He suspected she already knew the danger. When you have done something so long; the pain of ending needs a powerful nudge. She really did look like the Lady Celebrían. Nag Kath had learned not to ask how people so beautiful were unmarried. He let her think for a moment before saying, “I will see to the horses.”

In a higher part of the city, the dark one was furious. He had been summoned to the Lord’s chambers and told that gold for armaments was to be diverted to the purchase of diamonds, for no other reason than the petulant lordling wanted them. Meliath simply said, “I am going to buy them for my treasury.”

In politeness he did not feel, Selvas asked, “What is the cost of these diamonds, My Lord?”

Meliath feigned indifference and lied to make it seem trivial, “A thousand Flurin.”

“Then I wish you great joy in them, Lord Meliath.”

The shiftless Lord decreed, “It may delay our plans. I will have them!”

Selvas had no patience for this. “Then take them, but do not let this interfere in your designs and debase your father’s legacy.”

Part of Meliath’s argument was that simply stealing them would jeopardize his position with the Teleri at the great bay. Simpleton! They were enemies too! Those who did not assist were in the way. Selvas had enough of this silliness and applied his most powerful spell to control the childish Lord. It had no effect, as if blocked by some strength of will he thought purged from the fool. 

The Chancellor was tired. He was losing his grip over the Lord of Naitë. Meliath waved him away. Had the half-wit transferred his commitment for a handful of Dwarvish pebbles? Selvas trudged back up the steep stairs to his tower seething.

His lodgings seemed different too. Talifür, neck deep in the mire, saw no need to mention taking the diamond peddlers upstairs. No matter, Selvas had other problems. Melkor long told his servant that he was marshaling his resources, converting will into power. He could not spare any. Selvas respected that, but he must now ask for greater strength or they could lose everything they had gained to begin this war. Melkor could refuse, but his Umaiar had been faithful and prudent. Melkor would understand. Selvas prayed it would not lessen the dark one for their vision of the final battle of prophesy.

At high-night the frail Elf walked up to the open tower and placed both hands on the rough stone. “Oh Dark Lord, send me strength or we will lose the ruler of these lesser Elves. They must be brought to your command!”

The tiny cry for help was shortly returned by a massive bolt of force from the south, undetectable by anyone who could not feel the humors. Nag Kath was nearly knocked out of his resting chair. It could have been a dream, but it wasn’t.

______________------_____________

Bright and early, two grooms reported to the stalls. This was a soldiers’ district and, typical of cavalrymen everywhere, ohtars lived as close as they could to the stables. Nag Kath looked at the sketch of the officer as Daelor had described him. There weren’t a lot of unique features among the clans of Aman. They got a good look at a proud mounted officer in uniform leaving headquarters. An alley opened onto a service street behind the buildings. 

As Nambecur rode past, a denizen in the alley coughed loud enough to catch his attention just as a soft yellow light hit him between the eyes. The taller of the two hooded Quendi said, “Dismount. Your service is admirable. We will accomplish great things.”

The soldier seemed more susceptible than expected but his orderly Elf mind needed an almost constant stream of power. Nambecur swung his leg over the back of his horse and hopped down nimbly. “Yes, it goes well. The squatters are weak.”

The floating voice soothed, “How many infantry and cavalry will you lead against them?”

“Nine thousand foot. Fewer horse than we want.”

“Your bravery will make the difference. How many horses?”

The officer wobbled forward but righted himself to answer, “Five-hundred. It should be a thousand.”

Elurín watched the young sorcerer massage the interview. Nag Kath said, “Yes, enough for victory. Will the traitors destroy the bridges?”

Reluctance was followed by more yellow. “The Ñoldorin servant will secure them. If not, they will make barges for ferries.”

“When is the time of our greatness, brave ohtar of Naitë?”

“Soon, brother. Next summer. The blink of an eye.”

Nag Kath handed him a wine-skin, “Drink this delicious sweet wine before taking your rest tonight. We will return your horse later.”

______________------_____________

Far away, there was tension as well. Elrohir seethed, “Father, It is an abomination that your grand-daughter is married to an Uruk. Again, I beg you to dissolve their union.”

Elrond was still capable of anger. He was angry now. This should have been settled the first time Elrohir mentioned it. The precision of his delivery informed; “I told you once, and once should have been enough. Nag Kath is family and entitled to great respect. He is also in the realm of the enemy for our purpose. I forbid you to mention this again.”

The twin was resolute, knowing this was the answer and it was intolerable. He said softly, “Honored father, together we fought the fell forces of Sauron through eighty lives of men. There was no saving them. There was no redeeming them. They murdered so many who were dear to us. How can this condition remain?”

Elrond credited his son’s case. He would not have thought this possible himself before the two stragglers darkened his door. But the changeling had acquitted himself, in great danger, to save this child’s own mother from a fate worse than merciful death. That alone bought him grace. Then there was dear Inariel. She loved as the women of men loved, as his beloved daughter had loved. That must change as she accepted immortality, but for now, she was devoted to her husband and watched the bright star of Elrond’s father in prayer that he would return to her safely.

The wise Lord put his hand on his son’s shoulder, “You must trust that I know how hard this is to bear. He is welcome in my home. Accept this and carry it in your heart. You cannot live on vengeance. Be free of it. It is the only path to wisdom.”

When he was alone, Elrohir put his face in his hands and cried like he hadn’t since his mother was maimed. Father was right. He was always right. The warrior could face any foe with no thought of retreat. Why was this so hard? Brother Elladan adjusted. Later Elrohir sat and watched the river. The river always knew what to do.

______________------_____________

That evening Selvas summoned his new aide to the tower for a promotion. Except for the other night, Talifür hadn’t been there in years. He had never lived there but used the area below the deck for charts and a modest office. The strange gem merchant was right, this was unseemly. He held his nose. Selvas was up-top and the Minister was glad not to meet him in the putrid room. There were stone chairs aloft, immune to the weather. Selvas was standing by one and gestured for Talifür to sit. The Umaiar remained on his feet and said in his harsh monotone, “The diamonds interfere with our work, yes?”

“I agree. His Lordship seems obsessed. He has been obsessed before.”

“To lead, his mind must be uncluttered.”

There wasn’t much the Minister could add to that so he sat and wondered why he was there. Selvas with his grim, tired face, walked behind his astrologer's chair saying softly, “It is the time for greater things, yes?”

Talifür thought so too. As he prepared his response, fingers like daggers drove into his neck. The other hand over his mouth stifled the scream. Selvas said calmly, “Yes, it is time for greater things.”

It was late when the Minister returned home. His wife and child bowed. He hardly noticed. Father often had trying days so they respected the weight he carried. He did not eat the family meal. He did not kiss Hannih when she was ready for her child-rest. When Veronal came later for her kiss, he said simply, “I am leaving you.” He rose and took nothing he loved. 

Late the next morning Selvas had not come for his meal so an attendant, chosen by drawing the short straw, took a platter to his rooms. The desiccated corpse seemed to have been dead for days but he was seen only last night. It was as if all life had drained away.

___________-----___________

Tidings of the strange counselor’s doings were rare, but his death was public by dark. The jewelers were forgotten. Unknown to them, Meliath called a council of selected advisors that afternoon. He was a changed man. Resolute, he required that they all prepare for a war that would liberate the soul of Naitë Mélamar. Shirking was tantamount to treason. A number of ministers who were not invited to the meeting were instead invited to tender their resignations that afternoon or fall on their swords. Hours later, heralds proclaimed Lord Counselor Talifür was now Chancellor. 

Abruptly retired from the diamond business, Nag Kath and Elurín moved to separate inns nearer the main gate under new names. This time their horses were a back-window away. The soldiery was on edge. Guards barked orders at the gates and cavalry rode too fast where people walked. There was no looking for the hooded counselor now. Someone else had taken that job. They had a pretty good idea who. 

The clumsy Quendu went for his last examination to remove the splint he only wore here. Not long after, a porter helped two women load their bags on a beautiful bay horse and they rode together on another handsome horse until disappearing down the lane. Lieutenant Nambecur wouldn't miss him until they were long gone.


	10. Village of the Shamed

**_Chapter 10_ **

**_Village of the Shamed_ **

From Arnost to Celeborn and Galadriel’s haven of Thornost was one hundred and twenty leagues as the crow flies. The roads weren’t quite that straight but they were always in good condition. Nag Kath did not think he had a straight errand. He needed to see the army and he wanted a look at the lordless area on Meliath’s path to the mountain gardhs.

As it happened, he got them more-or-less in line. Forty of those leagues were still in Naitë Mélamar. There were a few inns but he spent nights outdoors, even in the rain. Three days out, and merely thirty miles from the border, he found a large encampment of at least one thousand foot ohtars. No one seemed especially worried that a mounted, well-dressed Quendu should be here. Anyone with a horse was somebody. He smiled and nodded, the way an out-of-uniform officer would, to let the lads know he was one of the team.

Unlike the ragtag armies of Middle-earth, even grunts have uniforms and metal armor in Aman. From watching lapels in Arnost, he could tell that one in five troops were regular army and the rest militia. And unlike Middle-earth, the farmers pressed into service didn’t whine while their crops rotted. Many of the shields had swans as the primary emblem or had them painted discreetly near the district pattern. 

What Nag Kath really wanted was a sergeant. He found one who had already dismissed his trainees and was making sure the cooks knew their business. Doing his best impersonation of a Lieutenant, Nag Kath called without getting too close, “Whipping them into shape, Sarn't?”

“Aye sir.”

“Can they swim?”

“At need, sir. Let us hope it does not come to that.”

The tall one on a fine horse became graver. “What news of the lordless lands? I go there now.”

“We have been keeping well away.”

“Have they eyes on the border?”

“We discourage that, sir.”

“Then we are in good hands. You will hear this soon enough but there is a new broom sweeping clean in Arnost. Lord Talifür is now chancellor with all powers. He is much taken with swans.”

Sergeants usually don’t care much for politics. They want to keep their men alive. Sarge asked gravely, “General Tonjum?”

“I have no news there as I am just away. Be vigilant. Are the other columns ahead?”

“The Fallai under Cadielv is just north and west.”

The officer considered that a moment. “And the others?”

The Sergeant was speaking out-of-school but explained, “Generals Feanath and Vengar are northeast.”

The young one nodded, “As they should be. I go straight. Wish me luck, Sarn't.”

“May the Valar protect you sir.” Nag Kath was sure the Sarn't did not know which former Valar he was fighting for.

______________------_____________

Two days later Nag Kath came to what he supposed was a border. Since those on the other side did not defend it, it was a line on his homemade map. Now in his oldest clothes, he took Shultö at barely more than a walk so he didn’t ride into Naitë pickets. There was a stone marker on the road that must date to when these lands had lords. Two hours later he came to a hamlet of farms. It would be dark in a few hours so he asked a lad of forty where he could lay his bedroll.

The fellow eyed him suspiciously and said that was a question for the elders. Nag Kath had other questions for the elders too, but he would be cautious. For now, he wanted shelter from clouds rolling in over the mountains. The grain harvest was in. People were picking the last fruits and vegetables to dry or boil in glazed clay jars and seal with beeswax. 

The ‘lad’ walked wordlessly beside the horse until they reached the largest building in the village, no more than a modest home. Nag Kath dismounted and tied the horse to a porch rail. Two older farmers walked out to continue the silence. Affable Nag Kath said, “Good day, sirs. I was hoping to find a roof between me and those rain clouds.”

One of them growled, “We’ll see. From whence do you hail?”

“Orthanc.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It is a small place.”

The other said, “You come from the swan troops.”

“I passed them two days east.”

The changeling did not say he was with them or against them. There was no telling where these border farmers’ sympathies lay. If this lot did nothing but scowl, Lembas would serve. When they had been quiet too long he said, “If none here take coin for dry straw and a meal, I will be on my way.”

No one spoke. He rode west and got a good soaking. As the rain beat down, he thought surliness might dissuade travelers but not the Sergeant’s stout lads. There was nothing but a graded road between them and a thousand troops. That would not improve by the following summer either. Naitë foragers would eat next year’s crops on their way by. Maybe the noble Elves did not murder or rob civilians like Wildmen. That was a big maybe.

There were more villages as he moved from the plains to very pretty, hilly country that was still flat enough in places to divert streams to the fields. It was perfect pastureland too. There were no horses but the villagers had cows, sheep and goats along with the usual barnyard fowl. There would be game in those forests too, much like Ithilien with a mix of leaf and needle trees. They were well away from the road so he trotted over to a stream coming out of a thick copse. Just out of habit, he tested it. 

Four days after passing the marker, he came to a larger village, town almost, at a crossroads from one of several bridges over the Athradduin. There were no inns but folk here weren’t bashful about taking in a traveler for a meal. It might be that people coming up from Farnëmar weren’t as nasty as the Naitë brutes. A farmer agreed to shelter him for less than his smallest denomination so he got the loft and the first ale at a merry pub that could have come from the Shire except for being twice as tall.

It was some sort of local holiday. Dinner was stew. Nag Kath ate the vegetables and tried the local ale. Elves don’t drink much but it will go to their heads. They also don’t have to go home and sleep. Later on, a few of the town squires were holding forth on everything that had happened in Dailiu since, well, who knows? 

It was too good an opportunity to pass-up so he asked as innocently as possible, “Forgive me good folk. Does this road continue on to Penethornost?”

There was deafening quiet for a few moments. Then a woman beautiful enough to start a fight between men in any tavern across the sea said, “It gets close, but you have to take the northern fork when you hit the river. Follow the north bank of the river and you will see the markers.”

One bold soul countered, “Nay, take a day off the trip and cut north tomorrow. It is a lesser track but riding past the rock-patch avoids those southern bogs.”

The Quenda considered that, “Never been that way, but that is how dear Calistuil goes. By all means stay to this side of the ridge or find nasty rocks and shale in the Naitë badlands. Either western way will serve you well.”

Nag Kath cried, “Splendid!” He tossed down another silver and exclaimed, “This is a hearty brew you make here!”

It was too. For the rest of the night, he got as much information as he could remember about battles and where the Naitë sent scouts and that the Lady of Thornost had come to visit and blessed their orchard which bore better than before! They sang quite a bit too. Even he was a little thick in the morning. Alcohol will put Elves into genuine haze, as evidenced by the great Bilbo’s escape from the Elven Halls. Those Dwarves didn’t ride to the lake in turnip barrels.

After waving goodbye, he decided to take the northern path for a look at the hill passes in thick forests further up the Naitë border. Surefooted Shultö was comfortable on a trail but it was still slower going when they started climbing. At the end of the day they reached another valley with another village also celebrating a forgotten legend. They had more answers and a brew that might pass for Rohan Red. 

For three days after cutting north he traveled along a spine of hills. It seemed the remnants of a great mountain range, still fertile on this the windward side but poor, rocky soil well into the Naitë west-lands. The hills were not much of a barrier, but there was no reason to march troops over them when a few days further north was level ground. 

The low, barrier ridge of hills flattened for five miles before rising again. To his left the ground opened into valleys. He turned Shultö west into one of the rolling gaps, dropping his mouth in a combination of shock, dread and realization. This was the valley in the mirror of Galadriel, exactly as he remembered it all those years ago. There was the little rivulet with meadows to either side, grasses now and flowers in the spring. Rather than go down, he took Shultö at a gallop to the eastern rise and stared into Naitë. If they were coming, this was the first place to break cover from behind those rocky hills and drive west into the lordless lands. It was still bleak and stony on the eastern side with an abandoned militia camp. Meliath had attacked further north on the actual border between Naitë and Galadriel’s settlers. When he came next, it would be here.

After scouting Meliath’s likely route, he was back at the rivulet and followed it to a stream making its way to the river dividing Thornost. He checked the water twice before letting thirsty Shultö drink. The horse had no trouble sleeping that night but rest would not come to Nag Kath. He sat, as he often did, with his arms around his knees, listening to night-birds. 

With the dawn, the Elf took Eniece’s earring box from Shultö’s oat bag and walked where the sun first shone on the slight northern slope. With a stick he chopped the soil loose, added a pinch of dirt from Emyn Vierald and carefully covered his little gureeq seed, wetting it with water from the stream. 

He sat and watched it the entire day. It was a magic seed, it might grow. The grain was the essence of Orlo after he was completely spent reviving Nag Kath, a last labor to destroy the Witch-stone. It would grow someday. What mattered was that this was the right time and the right place. The Elf never believed in fate. He still didn’t. He did believe that with experience and courage decisions came easier. This was the easiest he had ever made. He stayed another night. Nothing grew. 

Nag Kath used no powers to make it germinate, but those powers were increasing. He felt the surge from the south the night the sorcerer returned and again when he changed bodies. Each time he touched power, he absorbed some. Nag Kath was here because he brought tools no one else had. It was time to try a new one. At high night, he walked to where he could see the foothills of Penethornost and thought as a call to Galadriel, saying simply; “War is coming. Home in five days.” He heard nothing back. If it didn’t work, he was no worse.

______________------_____________

The lordless lands taught one more lesson. By late afternoon, he came to another village that would be right about the intersection of the lordless lands, Naitë and Thornost. Northwest was Galadriel and Celeborn’s city. This village was not full of gleeful Hobbit-Elves. They looked at him coolly. Farmers; yes, but with a dollop of soldier too. They had a tavern with a hitch post so he tied Shultö and walked inside. Conversation stopped and started again. He sat at an empty table until the barman waved him up to order. Dinner would be another hour. They did have a passable tan ale. He got one and walked back to his chair.

With dinner came diners who all eyed him up and down before taking their usual seats except for three fellows whose table he had appropriated. After they stood there long enough he said, “I won’t bite.”

That was good enough and they sat down to some sort of Elvish stew. There was no escaping stew. When cookie in the Halls of Mandos rang the dinner-bell, the souls knew what they would get. Nag Kath had a bowl and ate the vegetables. In a lull of local conversation, one of his table guests asked, “Where you heading, young Quendu?”

“I make for Thornost.”

Another asked, “Where you from?”

“I was just in Arnost.”

That was more information than they wanted to know until another pint passed the gullet. The third said, “Not many are the folk who ply that route.”

Nag Kath figured they had no special sympathies for Naitë so he replied, “I wasn’t appreciated. My wife is in Thornost and I am counting the miles until I see her again.”

The same Elf asked, “You a soldier?”

“Here, no. Elsewhere, often. How far am I from the border?”

The first diner answered, “Naitë, twenty miles east. Penethornost, fifteen miles northwest.”

The second fellow had a livid scar down his left cheek, a blade wound that should have healed on an Elf but had not been stitched in time, if at all. Elvish flesh joins where it touches but will not align by itself. The soldier, and he had to be a soldier, noticed Nag Kath’s attention and said, “Fell on a plow.”

“I’ve got a few I’ll carry to the grave. Soldiers get their share.”

That was the last comment until Nag Kath ordered another pitcher with the toast, “To the victorious dead!”

The farmers were stunned with that stock phrase but they raised their mugs and sipped silently. He hit a nerve. Nag Kath hunched-over his mug to ask, “What is this place?”

The third fellow said softly, “We are the shamed. You toast the victorious dead. We were defeated and yet live.”

Nag Kath empathized, “I once released spirits of men who did not answer their lord’s call and were imprisoned in gaols of rock for thousands of years. They finally proved their courage and joined their ancestors in honor. Let our next toast be to them.” He raised his mug again and sipped the light ale.

They drank that more readily. Free beer was not enough of an obligation to confess; but the third Elf wanted to get this off his shoulders. "We were the Aelius Company of Colonel Iothano’s third brigade. The general, full of confidence, marched us into Galadriel’s veterans. They knew us for the greenbottoms we were and flanked us at a pinch-point. Three companies were already through. One fled north and was captured. The center stood and was slain. We ran like scalded dogs into the lordless-lands and were only chased to the border.”

He began to tear and had to blow his nose but he soldiered on. “There was no going back. Better they thought us dead than disgraced. Iothano was taken prisoner with most of his men and exchanged for the promise that Naitë would mind its own business.”

He finally started crying. Everyone else in the room was on the edge of their chair. The second Elf continued the story for him. “We came here and were taken in by the citizens of this place, given food and shelter, treated like we did not deserve to be marched into a trap and disgraced. We worked hard. Some of us married. We made it green. Now it is our home. If that makes us people you would not break bread with, be on your way.”

Nag Kath considered his mug before saying, “I am the last survivor of nine thousand, captured and imprisoned as the war was lost by the worst general ever created. I have spent my entire life paying for that. So no, friend, I will break bread with you.” He took a long pull and put the mug down in the ring of sweat.

Others pulled their chairs so that the small table had six Elves around it and that many more standing behind them. Thirty-eight of sixty soldiers survived the assault and eighty-mile hike from the battleground into these foothills. The bulk of Naitë Mélamar’s forces fled behind their border at nearly a dead run but were not pursued. Meliath personally executed several top officers, including Iothano, so great was his rage. General Tonjum who ordered the attack was still a general. Life was cruel.

Nag Kath was in no hurry to leave the next day. Had he a line and hooks, he could have caught all the trout he wanted. They were no smarter than in Dunland. One of the Elves who stood in the background the night before sat in the grass next to him. He was silent for the longest time but there was still communication. Finally the Quendu cleared his throat to say, “It is not as bad as we claim. Sometimes it feels good to unburden. This is Attëa Súlë. Here we grow food and live in peace, a better life than we had before. I hope it can continue forever.”

The changeling did not want to shatter his hope, but if last night was for honesty, so was the dawn, “It will not last another year. Meliath is now in thrall to a dark lord. He is already training his host for an assault on Thornost through the valley just to your south. They come next summer. If he wins, he will never leave, and he will never forgive. Lindareth supports across the Athradduin bridges directly to up to Galadriel’s haven. How they divide the spoils depends on who gets there first.

“I leave to tell the lords of the mountains. It is a desperate situation but I am a warrior and warriors fight. What will the Aelius Company do?”

The former ohtar asked, “You are sure?”

“I have foreseen it. Tell the thirty-eight that honor still awaits them. You have a land worth defending. I leave that to you.”


	11. Sowing the Seeds

**_Chapter 11_ **

**_Sowing the Seeds_ **

The council met an hour after dawn. Galadriel heard him and called for Elrond and his staff to travel south. After spending the night in his wife’s arms, Nag Kath and Inariel joined the lords.

Nag Kath had gotten good at explaining his queer adventures, completing just the facts and circling around to opinions with the questions. It still took two hours. His ability to stun even people thousands of years old held. They knew more than they had explained about the two large gardhs agitating against the refugees. Morgoth was new. 

After his presentation, most of the conversation was about tactics and preparation. Nag Kath told Galadriel his vision of the field in her mirror before he left. Now he knew exactly where it was and had a good idea of when. Even if that knowledge meant an advantage of two thousand troops, they were still badly outnumbered. Between the two small gardhs they could force four thousand infantry and five hundred horse on the line. Meliath had ten thousand alone. 

Althunë, Elrond’s chief of staff asked, “Was the soldier you questioned any more specific about the timing?”

“No sir, he wasn’t. He knew they are short of horses. I saw no supply wagons. If the Lord thinks to invade a distance of eighty leagues on foot through their fallow western hill-country, they have to eat their way on local crops in the lordless-lands. Build stores now and burn the fields when the first ohtar crosses the border.”

Curiously, Caliquendi soldiers here did not eat Lembas. Those were soldiers' rations where there had been constant wars. That was a Middle-earth convention from Galadriel who learned it from the Maiar Melian. What Nag Kath did not know until this moment were the blessings, using small sorcery, at different stages in their recipe. Except for hers and Elrond's troops, ohtars ate lightly, but in the manner of conventional Gondor soldiers with beasts to slaughter behind them. For grains they had either beasts of burden or used the ohtars’ backs, same thing, really. The lords talked another hour with Inariel patiently listening to every word and Nag Kath answering occasional questions. They broke at the Hobbit elevenses for the lords to talk among themselves.

Nag Kath took his wife to a stream and watched the water lap the bank. She knew he wanted to be with her. She knew he wanted so much to make a normal life for them here in paradise over the sea. That did not seem possible with the coming storm. Nag Kath did not bring this to their world, but he had the uncanny ability to step in the middle. Inariel put her head on his shoulder and watched the water. As Elrohir was discovering, rivers knew.

Lords assessed their resources. They had a one-to-three disadvantage at best. Enemy troops would not overrun support and get trapped like the last time. Lord Felaour to Elrond’s east was neutral but he despised Meliath. If his neighbor was now Morgoth’s servant, that might tip the scale to join the allies. Cirdan would have already told the northern capitals about the training and the darkness but not where the hammer would fall. 

They had to find Gandalf. The changeling had done as he asked. There was no doubt the wizard was deep in this pit. Messengers would scour every corner of the free lands. Then there was Thranduil. He could make noises on his border but if he was going to interfere with Lindareth’s advance, he needed to cross the river and drive for Raniegal, some two hundred miles into hostile territory. He could do it. Would he?

____________-------___________

There was one embassy only Galadriel could take. King Finarfin and Queen Eärwen ruled the Ñoldorin Elves from their capital in Tirion and had done for over seven thousand years. He was the wisest and last of the family that had caused the Kinslaying and the exile of most Ñoldor to Middle-earth. In their story lay the tragedy of Elvendom. He and his followers bowed to the Doom of Mandos and returned home to avoid being banished with the Exiles.

Galadriel was Finarfin and Eärwin’s last surviving child and had only just been pardoned by the Valar from her exile. Long ago she chose to stay in Middle-earth against Sauron. When she returned in honor, Galadriel could have lived with her parents but she was long used to rule and came to the lands her husband’s retainers had tended, awaiting his arrival with the twins. She visited her mother and father after landing. They told her the rogue Teleri Meliath would object, so she stayed vigilant. 

As she sat in the council, she looked at her hands in her lap and wondered how it was thus. After those same seven thousand years, Morgoth had started the war over the Silmarils all over again, among the very same people! How could they have learned so little? The vast majority of the pain and suffering had been in the east. They knew their monsters in Middle-earth. In Aman; out of sight, out of mind. She would go north with Elrond. Celeborn would stay and prepare their people for the horror.

People viewed Nag Kath strangely. No one dared admit it, but when he showed his Elf-Lord face answering military questions, he looked like he could be Finarfin’s much younger brother. No one remembered Nomaral, the poor Elf ancestor of the Uruk-hai, but young Nag was a near-ringer for the Lord of Tirion, the only blonde child of the great and original King Finwë.

Within the week, everyone who was leaving had gone. Polite society was not ready for Nag Kath so he and Inariel stayed with Celeborn. Inariel made herself useful. With training come injuries. She healed the cuts and breaks, flowing in the field applying remedies. The changeling worked with the military, advised on what he had seen of the Naitë formations and practiced slow-swords every morning to steel his mind. He and Celeborn knew his true use would not be as a line soldier, but he would not seem shirking preparations as a pampered lordling.

Gandalf’s tedious lessons of the various Elvish factions and wars became relevant. A wise Elf, blinded in the Last Great Alliance, gently poured lore into Nag Kath’s thick head. The Quendu cautioned him not to be like those Elves falling into despair seeing the circle repeating. In his perverse, orcish way, Nag Kath expected the same people to fight over the same things. 

They shared a quick dinner with Celeborn a few weeks after his Lady and the others rode to find allies in the north. The great Lord was learning to like Nag Kath and he already loved Inariel. The changeling complimented him on the quality of his ohtars. They never really stood-down after the tussle with Meliath. They were also better skirmishers and guerilla fighters than traditional, full-wave Elvish assault troops. That might matter in those hills.

Celeborn allowed himself a small smile and said, “Thank you. In our counting, they are not that far from the war. I confess; they do not know quite what to make of you.”

Nag Kath considered that and replied, “That is for the better, My Lord.” The deliberations of the high were not shared widely. Nag Kath was simply a guest, husband of the important Lady visiting here. He had never shown any sorcery or even mentioned it to anyone not of the inner circle. The mystery guest took a sip of tea and continued, “What will you do with Lieutenant Aurthil, sir?

“I understand he is distinguishing himself.”

“He is a spy.”

It was just the three of them and two attendants who surely heard that. Nag Kath took the Lord’s silence as permission to continue, “There is a hint of blackness about him. Has he visited kin or traveled lately?”

Celeborn was still for a moment and said, “I do not know. That would not be unusual. He is Sindar, of my own people.” The Lord’s great grandchildren could see the thought behind those gray eyes.

Nag Kath was sure he was thinking how someone so close could have betrayed him, so he offered, “I do not think he knows, My Lord. He is like your daughter, influenced against his will with a touch of latent sorcery. It is reversible. There may be others. I think we must plan on corruption by the enemy. 

“Here is where I am at a loss, Lord Celeborn; you may want him reporting the obvious and keep him away from our knowledge of Melkor’s involvement. This seems an entirely Elvish dispute. If I restore him, our knowledge of black sorcery is revealed.”

Celeborn was angry. He bore into Nag Kath, “Have you been doing this to all my people?”

Inariel was uncomfortable but kept her face calm. Her husband was unconcerned, “No, but I have become so sensitive to it after Arnost that I can divine that humor from being close. That said; I have been with line troops who stay here. If I were looking, it would be with the drovers and scouts on the periphery.”

The Lord lost none of his intensity, “We are already sweeping those areas, but not for sorcery.”

“May I make a suggestion, sir?” 

“You will whether I permit it or not.”

This was a yarn so he began slowly, “The day after I found the field, I happened into a village that had taken-in half a brigade of Meliath’s men after their defeat at the border. They were shamed and would not go to a bad home for judgment. I told them their peace was ending and that the chance was coming to redeem themselves. You need eyes and you need allies. The contested lands need to defend themselves no less than any other people.

“I will go to them and see if they are ready for their own lordship rather than Meliath’s … or yours. They must choose soon.”

The contested lands featured prominently in the first circle discussion, especially since the changeling identified his vision in the mirror. The isolated folk there kept the same leadership structure in the counties and towns but they acknowledged no supreme gardh lord. They were also amicable and other than occasional border squabbles, got along well and went to each other’s fetes. The mood was against Meliath as he became hostile not only to the exiles but anyone in his sphere. The fallow lands along the border had kept them from the thinly populated end of the dark lord's gardh, but now they knew as surely as the sun would rise that the Eastern tyrant was coming. 

Celeborn considered that quickly and said, “Yes, please go. I expect you will want to do that without an escort.”

“I do this best quietly, sir, though I think my lovely bride would enjoy the countryside.” He smiled at her. She was ready for something new. 

The Lord returned to the spy, “I think we let him lie for now. There are two wars here. Let everyone think we ready for the one in plain sight. Your preparations for the Contested Lands might take you past our transports.” He lilted ‘might’ to make it a question. From him it was an order. 

______________------_____________

Inariel was excited. It had been a year since they were on the road together. As they were leaving, the thick-headed in-law made a goat’s breakfast of rummaging through the stores and supply wagons while his long-suffering lady-wife waited patiently. He smiled and shook his head after a fruitless search.

This was business so they stopped at every inn and town and haystack, saying hello to farm-folk on their side of the border and into the lordless lands. It took an extra day to reach the village of the shamed. One of the original three diners was a leather-crafter for harnesses and traces. The Kath’s visited him at his home which was also the tack shop. When they walked in, the fellow pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it to his wife saying, “My dear, these are friends. We may need a little extra meat tonight.” She got his drift and her husband paying cash was to be celebrated. She curtsied and said she would be back after a while.

The Quendu did not rise or stop stitching a set of reins but he did say, “Hartharn told us what you said. We have been watching. There is nothing new, but deeper into Naitë the militias have not disbanded.”

Nag Kath thought some introductions were in order. “I was not my courtly best last time. I am Nag Kath and this is my wife Inara. We are here about the same business.”

“My name is Eämiul, a pleasure. Tell me of your business.”

The changeling answered, “First, on your children’s heads, who among you are still loyal to Meliath?”

“None. He abandoned us and cursed us for his own stupidity. He is a lesser lord than his father, which is not saying much. I tell you this for nothing; we do not want to be lorded by the witch either.”

Inariel took that, “She does not want to rule you, but Meliath will when he runs roughshod through this valley. War is when lordship is needed. Can these lands form a high council to defend?”

He looked closely in her eyes and said, “You speak as a marshal, but you are a child. How is this possible?”

It was time to find out, “Forgive me, Eämiul, how can you tell?”

“The ring around your pupil is not fully formed. You cannot be twenty.”

Inariel laughed, “Sixteen, in this my second life. Nag Kath had also lived before. We know things we should not. One of those is that the Dark Lord Morgoth is inciting Meliath’s intended conquest. But not all powers are against us.”

Eämiul glanced between the immature eyeballs and muttered, “Bless us all.”

Nag Kath built on that, “More to the moment, Meliath moves a year too soon. He does not have enough horses to haul his supplies. We expect them to march when they can strip the fields on the way. The allies will have to burn them first. How are your grain reserves?”

“Good. We have all of last years’. With the new crop in they are usually destroyed against rats, but that will not be done until after the autumn festival.”

The changeling sighed in relief. “Then it will be a good year for the rodents. You must know every inch of the troop-way in here. I make it three miles wide on the Naitë side of these hills.”

“Four. Naitë farmers are plowing poor fields near the border even now to plant winter-wheat for the early harvest. Now we know why.”

Details could come later. Nag Kath said more amiably, “Inara and I will take our leisure. Perhaps you could arrange a meeting of those you trust away from the ears of that lovely tavern.”

The leather-Quendu considered, “You will stay with us tonight. Tomorrow some of us will take time from our labors to give thanks for our blessings.”

Dinner was relaxed. It was just the four of them. Three of them ate a beef haunch. This household did not keep wine or ale but enjoyed it at the tavern. Eämuil went out for a pint and was back within the hour. The next morning after chores, the Kaths followed their host to a barn a quarter mile away where they joined five more Quendu and two Quenda. Nag Kath recognized three males from the tavern.

This was his show. “Good morning and thank you for coming. I did not introduce myself last time but I am Nag Kath and this is my wife Inara.”

One of the women looked in her eyes and seemed scandalized. He realized he was a babe too as these people aged. It was the message that mattered. “I returned to tell you what I told Hartharn last time; the forces of Naitë will invade Thornost next summer. They will do so right through these lands, turning the northern corner of the barrier hills. Lindareth of Farnëmar will come from the south in a pincer. You must hide your grains and foods. Plant your crops as usual in the spring but they must burn before Meliath can dine on them.”

The scandalized woman’s husband said, “You seem very sure of yourself, young Quendu.”

In his usual, nonplussed way, Nag Kath responded, “Reasonably. They till along their path even now and you all know troops are digging in a few days south, far enough from the border not to challenge.”

The farmer nodded, “Aye, you have me there.”

Even more scandalously, Inariel added, “Galadriel has no designs on your lands. She and Celeborn are content with what they have, but they intend to keep what they have. We told honored Eämuil that Meliath is in league with dark sorcery of an almost forgotten evil. This is not about any one land here. Morgoth wants it all. I am sorry for your losses but they march only a half-day’s ride south. You will organize and fight or you will be the first slaves.”

That was blunter than her husband would have couched things, but disregarding her relative Elf-youth, she was second daughter of the King of the West. They knew how to explain war. Nag Kath returned to his point, “You told me you were here from defeat. I told you I was the sole survivor of a terrible war. We understand each other. Make it your pledge to tell noble friends in these lands they must prepare. I do not tell you to form great councils or find a leader. Done well, quality folk will rise to the top and you can take your pick after the threat.”

He looked at his glowing bride and said, “My Lady and I are going to catch some fish and leave you to discuss your course. We will return here two days hence for your thoughts. Thank you again for listening.”

______________------_____________

They rode to the valley. It was hard to imagine such a serene place would host the carnage he imagined. He had not seen that. He felt it. That was worse. Orlo’s seed area was dry so he watered it again. They caught two fish and cooked them for dinner on his Trum Dreng frying pan. 

That night, after a week of stress and planning and carrying the weight of the world, they were urgently intimate and truly alone. She observed Elvish couples enter the time of joining in Thornost and Harvién. It brought forth new feelings that went past her human desires. Inariel incorporated those into her movements and pleasures. He noticed. Perhaps that was what it would take to bring a new Elf into this world. She was now healthy, more so than they could have known in Middle-earth. The call of the Undying Lands might have dampened fertility in her fragile state as both woman and Elf. Night was not the time to question that. In the morning, they lay together as they often did. He was expecting sweet banter. What he got was, “Darling, just how evil are you?”

“Fair to middling. Why?”

“You have three lots of grain; the old, the fresh and the unsown.” 

“Aye, plenty for all.”

She said in a voice that belied no gravity, “Plenty for invaders too?”

“If they find it.”

“Maybe they should.”

He had to let that sink in a few moments before his face froze in the perfect mating of horror and humor. She added in the same tone as Queen Delatha of Dale said of her fingernails, “It would be a pity if it was not to their taste.”

Nag Kath grinned, “Was that why I married you? And all this time I thought it was your saucy figure.”

It was almost flawless in its simplicity. Strategic depots of captured grain would be contaminated with sorcery, not strong enough for enemy sorcerers to detect, but ohtars would be disoriented with empty bowels when they trudged to the line. He had done it before, just not on this scale. He never had advance-notice either. Morgoth’s man in Farnëmar had a belly full of Lostorin. Nag Kath needed to speak to Galadriel about that. Against it; Nag Kath did not know the local binding plants. He knew who did but she was safely in Cirdan’s port. There must be other healers. Galadriel was a pure sorceress of mind and spirit. This called for someone elemental. There was time. He rolled over and rewarded his helpful bride.

They spent the morning riding the crest just to the southeast, looking at how a large host must march up and around. That presumed Lindareth hugged the foothills – surmise, but logical. The couple made it to the edge of the shamed village and set a fireless camp. He had said tomorrow morning and that was soon enough. That night he simply held her. There might be coming days when that was not possible. Both of them cherished the touch.

With light, the Kaths rode to the little barn hoping for company. They were early. After listening to rattling buckets and well-cranks for a while, folk made their way individually and sat silently in the straw. Eämuil arrived last and spoke for the thirty-eight, “One of our number chose not to return but will keep his peace. We are agreed that our home is in peril by those we served. We will not bear arms, but we will do as you ask and tell others our view of the situation in the northern counties.”

The next words came harder. Eämuil said gravely, “We also understand that we cannot feed the coming invaders and will prepare to destroy the crops, some of us taking the initiative for those who will not know. They will share in the cache.”

Nag Kath broke the long silence saying, “I need the ohtars to find your food.” He answered the blank stares with, “It should be badly hidden three miles east of town.” With that he rolled out a crude map of the swath he expected the invaders to take with two dots ten leagues apart. The first was fifteen miles into Naitë Mélamar. He looked up and said, “I saw this town from the hills. Does anyone know it?

Hartharn answered, “Hastëste, about the same size as here. They grow better sweet beets. We have the melons.”

“How are their grain stores?”

Another Quendu who had not been introduced said, “Good, same as ours. Last year was strong. Not so good further into the plains for lack of rain and poor soil. That is why so few folk live within forty leagues of the border, and much of what is grown is sent towards Arnost. Their horses have not borne well either.”

Former ohtar Eämuil saved time, “Do not bother with the town. The last army granary is only a mile north of it.”

Inariel said, “Then we can ask no more. Expect us back before year’s end.” As they parted, she noticed the scandalized woman was with child and joined her walking back into the village while Nag Kath took a ride for a view of the land from the last northern hill. 

The pregnant woman apologized, “Forgive my staring the other day. It is not my place to judge your experience.”

Inariel was disarming, “Please, do not give it another thought. I am older than I look, nearing fifty-eight.”

In two hundred years she would still be a child-bride. Her tall husband was barely older than her. What queer circumstances could have created this union? When her uncomfortable companion said nothing, Inariel filled the gap with, “I am a healer much experienced in birthing. So is Nag Kath. That is how we met.”

So she was under-aged and familiar with joining and bringing forth? Precianal wondered that this demonstration was invented from whole-cloth and thought to test it, “You met while you were having a child?”

Inariel giggled, “Dear me no. He came to my aid as a healer and not three days later, we helped turn a breach-baby. My mother, father and grandfather were all healers. It runs in the family.”

“I see. Of course you are too young for the joining.”

Now what could the Princess say? These people did not know how mortals brought forth generations in the little time they had. Inariel would learn more, “I lost my mother quite young. When might a lady expect to be so blessed?”

Precianal confided, “I was four hundred and twelve for my first; a mere lass. That was only a hundred and sixteen years ago, so, you see, you are younger than my little girl.”

Four hundred! Perhaps her transition earned special dispensation. This was a land of infinite patience. It would seem that long. She still had work to do, “Precianal, are there healers in this region, those who are adept with herbs and caring?”

“I see you are from the city. Out here, we stitch our own cuts. I am told there is a woman near the Thornost border who has those skills, or did. She came here from the east with her queen. Now the witch-queen in Thornost, she is the one who would know!”

______________------_____________

Inariel took her man in the hayloft like it had been months. When he caught his breath he whispered, “Something happened?”

“I found I cannot have children for four hundred years.”

He grinned at the roof, “I would have guessed sooner.”

“Quiet, silly. You are supposed to be supportive.” She became more serious, “That is a terribly long time.”

He held her closer and replied, “I am happy now. I could stand a lot of this.”

She changed the subject, “There is a healer on the way home in Thornost. We passed her village coming here. The Quenda with child told me the healer came with great grandmother so she is recently of Middle-earth. Does that not seem to be away from most patients?”

“Oh my dear; man or Elf, that is a hard business. No one trusts you. Finding welcoming folk is half the battle.”

“Hughmmm.” He took that to mean they should get closer to their four hundred years.

He would not break his arm this time. The pregnant lady underestimated the size of the town and Inariel was uncertain about the location. Teleponis was on the road towards Farnëmar ten miles below their turn to the capital. It was large enough for an inn. The Solvanths heaved their bags on the cot. Except for luxury accommodations, Elvish country inns usually had comfortable chairs for sitting rest and a cot or blankets to lay down. Arriving after dark, they took chaste rest and would ask about herbs with the sun.

This was not the cobwebbed shop of Mrs. Hürna. The lady lived in a pleasant cottage just off the edge of town with a small herb garden and a larger area for vegetables already in for the year. Nag Kath knocked on the door. No one came. He knocked again and then they walked around the back to see a woman grinding meal for bread. 

You can’t sneak-up on an Elf. She heard them and turned saying, “Oh, hello dears. I won’t be a moment. Go around to the front and let yourselves in.” She scooped her dough into a bowl and went in through the back. The home was quite Elvish but there were elements that rang of Middle-earth. Drying her hands on her smock she said, “You don’t look hurt. Have you an ailment?”

Inariel smiled and said, “No, we wanted to ask you about your services.”

A human healer would have thought of ways to get them out the door with a minimum of breakage but she just smiled and asked, “What kind of service, child?”

He answered, “We are healers ourselves and in need of counsel. The plants of this land are unknown to us.”

Now she became leery and wondered, “Can’t say as I remember you. Neither of you are old enough for the last ship.”

Inariel agreed, “No, we are more recently arrived.”

“When?”

Her Ladyship answered, “Last year.”

The healer muttered to herself then said, “Better sit down.” Tea would have to wait until she made the fire for the bread. The Quenda lived alone. 

Nag Kath asked, “Ma’am, can you heal by induction?”

He got the same answer he would have in Osgiliath, “Depends on who wants to know.”

With a flash of silver, a stone candlestick holder lifted off the low table and hovered in the air for a few moments before floating back.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Inariel answered, “No, dear lady. We need help. Very soon we will all need help.”

“Is this the mud-spider to the east?”

Nag Kath replied, “I could not have put it better. I intend to give them things to snack on so they don’t arrive hungry. You don’t need to mention that, by the way.”

She cackled. Witches of any breed cackle, even fair ones. “Well, aren’t you a pair. You are a babe and he a child, a child who looks like Lord Finarfin.”

They hadn't heard the comparison. Princess Inariel misinterpreted, “I am King Finarfin’s only great, great grandchild. The rest of my family is already entreating allies against the mud-spiders, Mrs …?”

“Garritholan, and it’s miss.”

Nag Kath took the reins, “Miss Garritholan, Morgoth now commands Lord Meliath's mind and is near to Lord Lindareth. They march this way next summer. I plan to spike the grain they forage to induce, shall we say, discomfort. In Middle-earth I had long experience with binders and draws but do not know their like in Aman. I ask your help now that you know the generals will scorch the earth and all who stand on it.”

“Well, since you put it so nicely. Can you stay the night? This will take a while.”

They spent the rest of the day going over what was available, how it was similar or not to substances in Middle-earth and about everything the healer knew. She even knew a few of the spells he did though she drew through air. There were equivalents for most of the plants Nag Kath used, though in unexpected places. He needed quantity too. Stores smuggled over the border would receive the binder. Found local caches were the trigger. Put them together too soon and any sorcerers in the ranks would sniff them out. He also had the problem of tainting the supply ten miles behind enemy lines. That would take some old-fashioned, scholarly fraud. First he needed to know what he could do.

By late afternoon the healer hadn't laid the fire so she looked to Inariel saying, “Would your Ladyship mind going into town and getting us some dinner. My cook has the day off.” When Inariel rose she added, “The Swan Tavern will have something.” She was out the door. Nag Kath took the opportunity to unsaddle the horses and water them in a stream a little further out of town. 

When he walked back in the healer asked, “Will it work?”

“Probably, but more important things have to work first. I don’t suppose you have seen any traveling wizards lately?”

“You mean Orórin?”

“He’ll do.”

“Not lately. He was on the ship with his long beard. It fell out. That was before your time.”

“He was my mentor when I was very young. I saw him last year and need to see him again. On the subject, let me tell you what we are up against. First, a sorcerer powerful enough to change bodies is servant to Morgoth, a bit like the Witch-King. His name is Talifür if that matters anymore. The dark one has his claws in a lord of Farnëmar too, and certainly more in high places.”

“Yahch! Here I thought we were quit of them.”

Inariel let herself in with a basket and set it on the cluttered table. She smiled, “They had fish.”


	12. Alliances Tested

**_Chapter 12_ **

**_Alliances Tested_ **

A fair figure approached humbly, with grace and poise. At the appropriate distance, she bowed deeply and rose with a faint smile. Seated before her on matching thrones were two of the fairest and oldest Elves on earth; her parents. They both rose from their seats to embrace her.

Galadriel could not live here, but she had visited every ten years since she returned from Middle-earth. It had only been five years and this time she was without her husband. Lord Elrond and her two grandsons were quartered elsewhere in the magnificent palace of one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Mother Eärwin smiled graciously, “Welcome back, child. We understand there are difficulties.” 

King Finarfin nodded before adding, “I am sorry it must follow you.”

Galadriel smiled in reply, “Do not worry for me father. I am strong. Though I fear an old menace has returned.”

Queen Eärwin said gently, “Come, tell us in our chambers. Your family will join us for the late meal.”

The King and Queen did nothing quickly. Every movement was full and measured. In the north was how real Elves lived, the way men imagined them in fairy stories. They had not left the city together in hundreds of years and even then, not very far. That was the last time they spoke with the Vanyar now living in the center of the continent. Decisions were slow in coming too. Thankfully Cirdan, every bit as old as they, was quick on his feet and sailed with most of Nag Kath’s story the day after Elurín reached home. King Olwë, now in Alqualondë, would have heard as well.

Galadriel explained what they knew. Morgoth, for all his wreckage, left these shores after destroying the trees and was primarily Middle-earth’s problem. His power and cruelty became so great that most of the clans here joined the remaining Valar and captured him, destroying vast swathes of the Middle-earth in the doing. The Black Foe, most powerful of all the Ainur, was imprisoned in the void where he was supposed to be incapable of escaping.

That is a persuasive contention, made by those to be believed. But no vessel is inviolable, especially when untended. Why he wasn’t ground to dust and thrown by the pinch to the winds of the world was never addressed. King, Queen and Princess, their heir, sat in the private quarters for a conversation none of them wanted. But nor were they afraid. They were the very last full blood of the tragic King Finwë, thinly continued through Celebrían, the twins and now the lovely newcomer who would need much explaining. 

Galadriel told them every last word. When she was done, Finarfin said, “Much of this we heard from Cirdan. He and his people are our eyes on the sea. There are other friends.”

Eärwin added, “Lord Felaour is open. When we meet with Lord Elrond, he can add to our understanding. What is less certain is this Kath creature. Is he an ally?”

Galadriel allowed herself a smile. “Yes, mother, but a curious resource. Had you heard of him before?”

“No, daughter. He was an orc who became an Elf? Men have become Elves with the grace of the Holy Ones, but orcs? I find that disturbing.”

Galadriel allowed herself an even bigger smile. “Everyone does. He is a mix of Istari, Elf, perhaps a little remaining orc, but mostly a man. Nag Kath has done great service, including saving Celebrían from the grips of Morgoth. She sends her best and is now truly Lady of Harvién." She looked demurely at the King and added, “What is most disconcerting; he looks a great deal like you, father dear.”

Finarfin was not amused, “Cirdan told me. He said he knew the poor ohtar too.”

Queen Eärwin touched her daughter’s hand to say, “We will discuss the hard things to be done after dinner. Now, tell us of your family, dear child.”

Elrond did not visit often but he was a relative both by blood and marriage. Elrohir and Elladan were here frequently. Their great grandparents always gently mentioned that they were of a good age to take brides. And as the last of the line, what a joy it would be to welcome another generation! The twins agreed but had no news on that front. Now there was baby Inariel. 

Dinner, by tradition, was also about family. One did not discuss items of contention or low company during the meal. After retiring to the sitting-room, they were deep in the details. The military situation seemed the easier, despite the numbers Meliath could marshal. And ten thousand was a guess. He had sixty thousand subjects, half male, all capable of wielding a weapon. If he and his minions could rouse the population to arms, it could be twenty thousand. The bulk would be poorly trained and armed in a world without war for two ages.

Morgoth was the unknown. He did not have orcs, or dragons or even many horses for his foul purpose. Even in the dark lord's weakness, perhaps because of it, convincing northern allies was an uphill climb. Finarfin would go to the Vanyar himself if King Olwë would come. Only the Vanyar or Teleri Elves could approach the Valar. Finarfin was the ‘clean’ Ñoldorin, but that alone was not enough. And where was Gandalf? He sent the changeling into the wilds without saying why, after being in Eldamar, of all places. That was a year ago. It was possible he was with the Valar in their havens of the west, but old Orórin was not disposed to a life of leisure. He was more likely deep in the enemy’s world and not available for comment.

Eärwen wanted to hear more about Inariel. She had never met Arwen or Aragorn but had heard of them through returning firstborn over the years. There were their two mortal great, great grandchildren as well. An exciting innovation; Elrond brought pictures of them drawn by the queer changeling. This was what people actually looked like! There were other pictures too; including the valley and the wraith Talifür. Finarfin studied the sketches intently before taking his rest. 

Olwë was of the first moment. High King of the Teleri, he should have some nominal control over the renegade Meliath, but Meliath was Morgoth’s creature now. Attacking the mountain gardhs was a ruse. The dark lord was not interested in taking bits of ground and forcing accommodation with his neighbors. It was a question of who was next. It always had been. The Elves responded better at some times than others.

Olwë had more subjects than Finarfin and they were less fractious than the Ñoldorin had been. They were also spread further. If Meliath’s Teleri still counted, those were furthest from Alqualondë. Felaour’s large Teleri fief next to Elrond was densely populated and had good reason to mistrust Naitë Mélamar. Cirdan was of that clan and there were ports and towns sprinkled along the Bay of Eldamar long held by Teleri, Ñoldor and Sindar mixes. The difficulty was that Olwë stayed to Alqualondë or his island fortress of Tol Eressëa and seldom spoke with the other Elvish houses.

Elrohir was dispatched the following day with a convincing escort to plead for the King to come to Tirion and thence to the Vanyar living inland. If he came here, round trip to the Golden Elves was two months at best. It had to be done. If Olwë could not commit his peoples to plugging the leak in the void, it would be a desperate fight in the south.

______________------_____________

Nag Kath surmised that was happening. Lords have councils, they consider, they move deliberately and maybe they do something. He had his hands full baiting traps. Celeborn gave him a stout wagon to ride into the shamed village of Attëa Súlë. With him he brought piles of local weeds. 

There the changeling tainted two batches of wheat. The first was a Lostorin based poison using ground root of palmath which made a working binder when cursed with a deeping spell. He had to make hundreds of pounds of it and slept every night for a week until it was prepared. That had to be carted to Naitë and dumped on the grain reserves in the staging area.

Next he conjured a trigger with ground grains of amanthage under a confusion spell. That was dissolved in water and sprayed on another five hundred pounds of wheat. When mixed with the binder from Naitë, it should make the soldiers confused, dizzy and desperately loose in the bowels ... susceptible too. Both batches should be added to tons of good wheat as evenly as possible. 

Inside Naitë was harder. Before he left the last time, he asked his new friends of the Aelius Company to ‘borrow’ drover uniforms from the local Naitë militia. They got him one that fit. He and Hartharn took the two-horse team the long way around to the granary depot and arrived just late enough the next afternoon to catch the militia hungry for dinner. 

Hartharn did the talking since he was of these folk. "Sarn't, got another shipment for you. Where does it go?”

“What is it?”

Hartharn drawled, “Wheat, this year’s crop.”

“Put it with the rest.”

They didn’t know where the rest was but no one was to be asked more than one question if possible. A trooper with his boots off was trying to make sense of what used to be a pair of socks. Hartharn called again, “Where is the wheat storage?”

The ohtar pointed at two block silos before attending his foot-sores. 

Hartharn smiled and thanked him as his gut twisted. This was the Castle-Turn Militia and ohtars’ socks were rags! Everyone knew Meliath was a miser but this was the army! What Nag Kath would tell him on the way home, provided they made it, was that the barefoot lad was two or three steps closer to being an orc than he was before the hated mountain-lords of Middle-earth blighted these Undying Lands. Naitë people had slowly stopped living like Elves. In a society that honored their leaders as completely as Elves, they were all being dragged down. The low gave and the high kept. Thousands of farmers were forced to hope someone harvested their crops while they practiced stabbing people none of them disliked. They were closer to the start of the dark road than the end, but it only went one way.

That was all to the good for the Aelius sabotage team slowly clopping towards the depot. Naitë used the sort of silos that were built into a hill with the exit doors at various heights in front and the loading chute up an easy grade behind them. They backed-up the rise to shovel their wheat into the top of the first silo. 

In a healthy Elvish community, a half-dozen hearty folk would help them unload the wagon. No one was there. This was too good to be true. Against an opportunity like this, Nag Kath mixed a secondary taint in a pair of ale barrels tied to the wagon rails. It was just water and salmoë extract which would mildew everything it touched within days. With no one even watching, they poured the drums in, threw dry wheat over the surface and replaced the silo cover. Then they backed the team to the other silo and shoveled in their palmath-tainted wheat. It took two hours, alone and in silence with wet gauze around their faces. Hartharn closed the lid and they rode home. Nobody paid them any more attention on the way out than in.

Another team of the Aelius had spiked the secret granary with instructions to wear wet swaddling around their mouths and noses and bathe afterwards. The rats would know better than to eat that wheat. His work done, Nag Kath tapped a third barrel he brought with more popular contents. 

______________------_____________

High Lords were less successful. King Olwë was deeply concerned but would not start a war over Meliath. The involvement of Morgoth was inconclusive. Against claims the Black Foe was slowly leaking into Valinor, he had yet to appear. His Highness did agree to let Felaour build his forces, which he was already doing, and gave Cirdan complete autonomy for his conduct, which he always had. Meliath’s ambassador in Alqualondë resigned when he heard Talifür was chancellor and stayed there with distant family. That should have told all.

All this scotched the Ñoldorin embassy to Valmar. Neither Finarfin nor Galadriel had been involved in the Kinslaying but they were blood of those who had, which limited their influence among the Golden Elves. It was a four-hundred mile ride each way to sip tea and hear the same sympathy they got from Olwë.

High King Finarfin searched his soul. Most of the Ñoldorin, apart from Lindareth’s lot, either lived near Tirion or along the coast. His people never truly recovered from the tragedy of the Silmarils and the War of Wrath. Even as commander of a successful host, he returned to the bitter legacy of his family, further sundered when Lindareth led those opposed to his brothers' treachery south. 

Upon hearing of Olwë’s refusal, Finarfin sat in his garden and looked at the same stars his great, great grandson-in-law pondered with the astrologers of Arnost. Queen Eärwen joined him in silence. Knowing he wanted to think, she left him a mug of cold tea, kissing him gently. Was the changeling right that Melkor was behind this madness? Was this a call to restore the Ñoldorin people or to complete their extinction? There were so few left.

Of the many concerns of the Elven-King, none ran deeper than the Prophesy of Mandos. The last great battle against Morgoth must come. Elves throughout Aman believed, as they always had. Even though the Dagor Dagorath was not of the tulurya, the future, as declared and decreed, when a story lives long enough, it is truth.

For most Elves that lore was sacred. For the Lord of the Ñoldorin, it was personal. His slain brothers' lines had a few surviving wives, children and servants who had been relegated to the background for two ages. The greatest of those servants was Glorfindel of Fingolfin's house. So mighty was he in honored service that the gods returned him to life with powers to aid in the fight against Sauron. Yet when he set foot on these shores after the Ring War, he became as mist. Those who saw him fade said he had the slightest smile, as if he knew he was being banked against the one last war to settle with his worst enemy the Black Foe Melkor.

Then there was Eärendil - blessed Eärendil - Now piloting his lonely star looking down on all peoples, waiting for the signal to attack. Would all of the great heroes held in reserve against the Dagor be called? Was this that fight? Would the gods summon their champions as foretold? They must know. Had their powers weakened to the point that they could not even tell? If the champions were not recalled, would this be yet another bloody, pointless kinslaying?

The King asked Galadriel, Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan to join him and his Queen after breakfast. The four trooped in not knowing what to expect. His Highness made his own formidable Elf-Lord face saying, “I will raise an army of three thousand and cross the Valaduin by the end of May. If I can persuade any on my way, I will bring more. Galadriel, your mother will remain here and govern in my stead in hopes of victory and an end to the sundering. I prepare in secret. Look to my coming in June. May the Valar bless our noble cause.”

There was absolute silence in the room. The Queen delicately broke the spell, “We would be helped if one of our great grandsons could stay and acquaint us with your methods Lord Elrond.” He bowed. “We suggest you return home by way of Lord Felaour’s lands where may be found support and good counsel.” He bowed even deeper thinking that to mean ground had already been plowed to ask for troops. 

They stayed another three days, some because they were family and some for the grinding detail it takes to organize a great host of winning soldiers. They did not get what they wanted, not even half, but it gave them a fighting chance. 

______________------_____________

The embassy returned to Harvién in the first week of November. Celeborn rode with his top army advisors and a stout escort to meet them. Nag Kath and Inariel remained in Thornost. They were used to not being in the highest councils by now and did not begrudge their exclusion. 

Nag Kath had a sizeable troop of slow-sword ohtars for dawn practice. Some of them were poetry in motion, better than the changeling. His movements were a compromise of being deliberate yet retaining the memory of speed. They were flawless at any speed and he learned from them. Nag Kath also kept an eye on the tainted Lieutenant Aurthil who did not join in swordplay. The changeling was very careful not to show magic to him or anyone else here. In his absence, Celeborn gave Chief-of-Staff Lord Odalimrin command of the army. With Nag Kath’s talents in deep reserve, Odalimrin considered him just another junior officer who married above his station and left him alone.

The civil administration was more interesting. Second Chancellor Elendrie, one of the changeling’s original interrogators, was recalled to the capital. It was his initial, neutral judgment that helped save the Uruk’s life. Not that he ever knew. In passing, both Elves thought they recognized something but, like the picture of Orlo, could not bring memory to bear. All Elendrie remembered was the dandelion of hair in all directions. The prisoner’s name was an orcish grunt. Nag Kath’s mind was far from formed.

The third time they met at breakfast. Elendrie kept sneaking glances until saying, “Your pardon, you are familiar but I cannot tell how.” It was only after porridge that the Elf-Lord recalled the face. The two spent time catching-up and he later enjoyed company with Arwen's daughter. 

That same daughter kept busy with several babies due shortly. Somehow the world creates more children when war is in the wind. All were perfectly healthy. The children of men had the difficulties. She enjoyed the company of women preparing for birth. In that role they saw her as more adult than precocious child and were glad of her. 

Well north, Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn visited the realm of Formenhobas, long home of Lord Felaour. Declared neutral since the Ring War Elves arrived, he was slowly allying with his newer neighbors. It was not so much a shared bond as the growing threat of Meliath. His close friend Cirdan sent emissaries to tell him of the darkness. As far as he was concerned, Morgoth's involvement vitiated the strained Teleri chords of the past. His northern lands on the Valaduin River already had a great many Sindar and Ñoldorin Elves, none of whom seemed determined to re-steal Silmarils.

Felaour agreed to send a thousand infantry across the bridge into lordless territory to join the host when King Finarfin’s troops arrived. He would raise militias on his side of the river in the event Meliath crossed to reach Harvién. The mountain Lords said they thought they knew the attack route but that was no guarantee any of Naitë’s troops would take it, much less all of them. The allies returned to Harvién pleased with the outcome. There had still been no word from Thranduil or his neutral neighbor Benamtilith along the southern coast. Gandalf was still unearthed. 

Celeborn and Galadriel were home in March with senior staff from both Elrond and King Finarfin. Preparations were satisfactory here. They had arms, armor and kit. Most of their time was spent inspecting troops and fittings for a push eastward. They did not want to reinforce their border too soon. Galadriel went secretly to the contested lands for a look herself. Nag Kath’s new ears along Naitë reported no heavy troop concentrations but the camp he passed through returning from the capital and another one hundred miles northeast had not released their militias.

After the flush of her Ladyship’s return, Nag Kath asked Galadriel for a private conversation. She readily agreed. They were the magical Elves. He started, “My lady, do you know confusion spells?”

“I know of them, but they were ken of the mannish witches.”

He explained the Doureg compounds witches used as binders to anchor spells in attempted coups in Dale and Dol Amroth. With a grin he added, “I dosed Morgoth’s man in Farnëmar with a massive amount of Lostorin. That is a binder to condition or retain other spells. You are stronger than the one who controls Vantieth. If I teach you the spell, can you use your ósanwe (far-speaking – entering of another's mind) to confuse him?”

She was silent. He continued, “I used the unbound spell on a general of Mordor to countermand his lord’s order. He sat in camp and they lost the battle.”

Her eyes sliced into him before commanding, “I would know this spell!”

It took her only minutes to learn, summoning far beyond his incipient talent. Even with the ring Nenya reduced to jewelry, her experience and residual drawing was vast. A wary volunteer was deeply confused. Just as quickly, Nag Kath showed her the clarity spell which also fascinated her.

“My Lady, if you, or we together, can convince Vantieth to sit or attack trees or do anything but drive over the bridges for even two weeks, it will be of the greatest moment. He is already under dark control, so he is susceptible, and likely easy to find. Please, Lady Galadriel, give me your hand.” She did without hesitation. He showed her the pulse Selvas sent before the massive response by Melkor. “If you feel that, you know where to find him. Morgoth too.”

She gave him her wry smile knowing he had been underestimated again. It had the same feel as the spirit she shunned -- yes, she would know it again. Unknown to the spy in camp, her engineers and artillery troops were already at the middle of the southern foothill bridges, ready to destroy it at need. That could not be done to the bridge further east in the lordless-lands, but that seemed a less likely place for Lindareth to cross since his strategic purpose was to hug the foothills at speed. Much depended on the angry Lords taking the easy path.

Arnost was busy as well. There would be no more foolishness with diamonds or possessions. Meliath was brought in full service of the dark ones. Selvas had a stronger body. His powers were greater. He could instruct Vantieth, not in words, but intentions were clear. Better military minds would have waited another year to get enough horses and steel, but they knew the allies to the north had begun preparations. The servants of Morgoth had might on their side. They had rolled their dice.

In April, Vantieth rode with his black escort to Arnost for consultation. Farnëmar would settle with Cirdan after Thornost was burned. Their soldiery was incited to blood-hate. That was not a natural Elvish condition. As Selvas infused his darkness into heralds and selected officers, they preached to the public. Those who disagreed were taught the error of their ways. Two lesser drawing healers were slain but they never found Daelor. Further south, the witless administrator across the river from Thranduil was replaced by a dedicated, but not sorcerous, Captain.

More to the moment, regular army and militias in mostly northern Naitë were raised and started moving west along their northern border, near enough for Lord Felaour's pickets to watch. No merchant traffic was allowed to leave. They had adequate grain to mass before the strike but not enough horses to pull supply wagons across the badlands if they wanted cavalry for skirmishing. Ohtars would have to carry what they needed to the contested lands. Planners counted on two full silos near the border to get them well inside the lordless territory before they needed to forage. 

Similar, if more merciful, arrangements were underway with the allies. By the first of May, resident armies were nearly assembled but kept well clear of the borders. There were no raids or probes-in-force. Everyone tried to look like nothing was happening. 

As promised, King Finarfin crossed the Valaduin with three thousand troops and three hundred non-combatants on June first. Felaour’s thousand infantry, plus two hundred cavalry, would trickle into their southern forest above the Naitë bridge for further instruction. As solemn as his progress was, Finarfin allowed himself a short stay in Harvién to visit his only grandchild Celebrían. He met her in her madness when she was first escorted back from Middle-earth and could not bear to see her again until now. After all those terrible years, she was restored and gradually adjusting. It gave him hope for the future. Two weeks later, his host arrived in the capital of Thornost. For several days, even the orderly Elves were rushing about trying to shelter, feed and provision three thousand more soldiers preparing for the march east.

______________------_____________

A larger council was called that included Nag Kath and Inariel. They were presented to the King and his advisors. His Lordship was delighted to see his great, great grandchild, a baby in so many ways. He was polite to her husband who he thought did not resemble him. After introductions, the Kaths were kept to the background. 

Late in the next day’s meeting, the changeling gathered his predicted path to the valley of the mirror had lost sway after Felaour’s scouts’ assessment of Naitë troop movements. Since Meliath's troops were concentrated in the north, experts didn’t see the value of a mere child’s strategy and thought the original battlefield of the Ring War veterans was the more likely place for Naitë to drive. Galadriel’s troops had won there by guile and experience but would have lost if Naitë knew its business. Felaour’s forces would hover conveniently above the first battlefield, just past their doorstep. 

The changeling did not jump up to remonstrate. Only Galadriel saw his concern. Later in the day, the Lady of Lorien found him sitting by one of the little streams. She sat next to him without him rising first. Staring at the water he said, “They do not understand, do they?”

“Where the enemy will come?”

He shook his head, “No, why.”

She asked softly, “Tell me.”

“Meliath could take these gardhs anytime he wants. It wasn’t until the darkness that he found the will. He has no reason to include Lindareth in the spoils.”

His blood came up, “There will be no spoils! Morgoth does not want land. He wants Eldamar in flames so he can escape his dungeon! Something in the rage will rip the fabric, like the mithril band of Numenor. Who knows what other monsters he will bring with him? I can feel these holes.”

Nag Kath looked at the shocked Lady and said in his full Elf-Lord visage, “The battle is a diversion. Think like your old enemy. You plan in ways that Elves always have, find honor and purpose in the nobility of fair combat. Be cautious, Lady Galadriel. With no opposition in the north and west, the Black Foe doesn’t need a single survivor on either side.” 

He continued in a soft voice at once powerful and frightening, "We have both fooled them. They think me a child, but I have been fighting since the moment I was spawned, always a weapon, always waiting. You ... you wear your ring as if a memento of past power gracefully lost, lulling them with your acceptance ... but you learned long ago how to summon earth and air to your purpose without it."

He softened, “Will the Valar come? Will they release the heroes from their half-lives for the battle of prophesy?”

Galadriel had her own grave face, “No. Either they do not believe, or do not believe this is the Dagorath. You are right. This is not as seen. Father comes because it is not for the Ñoldorin to refuse. This is his test."

Nag Kath rose and bowed. The next words came harder, "My greatest test is coming. Be strong for her. Listen for my call." 

There was something else these chivalrous people did not understand. It was unconventional. So was he. Inariel tried to comfort him. Her sensibilities were becoming Elvish, seeking accommodation and concord. His were not. She was his love and he wanted to be with her always. First he had work to do.


	13. The Reckoning

**_Chapter 13_ **

**_The Reckoning_ **

Planting was early this year for the first crop and the harvest would be early too, if not very good. With the general staff busy, Nag Kath took a moment to consult astronomer Kelbine. The new moon of July would be nearly at the end of the month on the twenty-sixth. Would that be when Orlo could rise? He may just be a stalk of gureeq. It was too faint a prayer to hope, but that was also when the first wheat of the lordless-lands would be edible. When asked, Kelbine also showed the expected arc of the Evenstar on that date.

On the eighth of July, allied armies started towards the Naitë border forty leagues due east. Their grain stores were long established and defended. Felaour’s general Ülon would move in stealth to join them. Two days out, runners on spent horses reached them to say the enemy Vantieth was leading three thousand troops with three hundred cavalry west to the Foothills road and would cross the bridges into Penethornost within the week. Galadriel far-spoke her southern Captain to destroy the middle bridge over the strongest flow, trapping them between rivers and make backtracking that much further. Naitë wanted them to cleave to the mountains closing on Galadriel from the south. 

That was when folk noticed Nag Kath was gone. He was a curious creature but quite reliable. The Lady of Lorien acted concerned. Galadriel wished he could help her with the spell but had to use it on her own. In hopes that the border bridge was in ruins, she tried her own confusion spell on General Vantieth, honing on a signal he received from Arnost weeks before. She transmitted that he was terrified of water, that crossing the river would be the death of his troops. Barges and ferries would sink beneath them and they would be carried to the sea as bloated corpses, never to be reborn. He would also deny all further far-speaking as treason; Orlo’s trick.

There was no telling if it would work. Scouts on the river would report if they cut timber for transports. She closed her eyes and prayed that the changeling had not returned to his original masters, that this had not been in Morgoth’s or Sauron’s or even Saruman’s design.

The changeling himself was in the contested lands. He admitted he could be wrong and that Meliath would avenge at the sight of his humiliation. If the high allied lords were correct, conditions were as good as they would get. If not, they would need to force-march their noble backsides down here because once Naitë took this vale, there was nothing between them and the allied capitals. 

In the village of Attëa Súlë he spoke with leaders of the thirty-eight. Their ears in Naitë heard forces were massing just where expected. The eastern trap was baited with no guarantee that Meliath would not bring all the food he needed. In the allies’ favor; even if Morgoth now truly made the decisions in Naitë, the flesh-and-blood soldiery was lashed to Meliath’s long, parsimonious history of poor provisions and lax discipline. Most of the grain in one silo was a solid lump of black mold so they must rely on the tainted store next to it. That would get them here. The easily found cache on this side would be a welcome discovery, for a few days.

It was time to burn the fields. The dry spell that hurt the crops helped their destruction. Elves with torches lit them from upwind and retreated. Many who were not aware protested, some with weapons, but when they learned Meliath was coming, they gathered what possessions they could and were shown hidden places behind the hills. Hopefully their stout stone homes would survive. Nag Kath and the Aelius Company watched the fields burn and smoke. If Meliath did not come, they had barely a year’s rations in the small, safe caches. It was still a terrible risk. 

When the Aelius returned home, Nag Kath stayed along a stream bed holding his long legs. He considered his powers. They were greater still. Ever since he arrived, every little bit of magic left something inside him, adding to what he brought from Middle-earth. He was accumulating it from air and water and earth. That did not frighten him; though he worried it would not be enough. For an hour he sat and considered his course. Inariel agreed, thought it may cost her everything she had gained from joining her new people. She was a very conventional girl in many ways but she loved him and trusted him. The Princess waited in Thornost with unwavering faith.

The changeling sensed it, something he had not felt since Orthanc. He considered his choices, knowing he was being watched. Finally, he raised his hand and gestured for his observer to join.

“Why aren’t you with the others, dear boy?”

"They will need me here if they are wrong.”

Orórin sat next to him. “Are they wrong?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Perhaps not, but Elves are not good at being wrong. Me; I have long experience. We had given up on you, old friend.”

The wizard took out a pipe. Nag Kath had not seen him use it in these lands. Did some secret village of Elves grow passable pipe-weed? As always, the wizard said nothing while he prepared the bowl, a ritual with him. He lit something that actually smelled like Longbottom and puffed a curlicue into the breeze. 

Gandalf replied, “I was lobbying Galadriel’s plight among the Eldar and the Valar. They were unconvinced. I have come here on my own. Tell me everything, and I mean; everything.”

“All right. But first; you knew I was coming to Aman, yes?”

“I did.”

“The stone?”

“Now that you mention it. I felt the first touch on the one I kept. I watched you on a castle for the second.”

The Elf muttered, “But you didn’t know when.”

“You had reached the end of your tether if you were gazing in Palantiri. Do you know which one?”

“Inara said it was from Osgiliath – much larger than the one in the treasure room. Did you see the old woman? She saw you.”

“Hughmmm.”

It was nearing dark. That called for another bowl. Once burning, the wizard said, “They are wrong about the battle site?”

The changeling shook his head, “That is salvageable. They are wrong about the strategy. They see this as a struggle of flesh and blood. They hope Morgoth will not come. That is the error. They wait until he is strong for the battle of prophesy, as Mandos saw the ending of the world. Impulsive lordlings of Naitë and Farnëmar bring Morgoth forth a year too soon. Good … he is not yet ready.” Nag Kath turned to his friend, “Then I will slay him.”

That was a bold claim. Orórin said as he might have to the changeling in Orthanc, “Do not be hasty. You do not know the power he possesses.”

The youngster countered, “I do. You will see. I think Galadriel does. I confess; my lessons are no clearer than your efforts, but in their day, both of the dark lords commanded vast influence. They could fashion great beasts and armies of those like me. The best he has managed is the shape-changer. He does have legions of selfish orc/Elves. They are weak.”

Nag Kath showed his lord face to this old friend, the first time since cracking the Uruk code, “Gandalf, his ambitions now exceed his power and his patience. Every day he claws at a pinhole in his confinement. If it is not that one, another seam will rip. You say the Holy Ones are indifferent. The Black Foe is coming. Let it be where he will lose."

The young Elf had received grudging compliments on tactics but the wizard realized for the first time he was a strategist. He had orchestrated the demise of hard men of the east, deflecting accolades when he could. There was merit to the idea. If what Gandalf thought was convincing evidence of the evil Ainu creeping into the world did not persuade those with the inherent power to end this, Morgoth would get stronger, eventually forcing an even worse slaughter. Like King Olwë, the ancients would only act when they could not ignore. Gandalf played a sore, sleepy old man for two thousand years. That is how old men behave if they can get away with it.

They spoke some time on the creature Talifür. Nag Kath could not get close after the change, but he knew Meliath’s primary sorcerer was dead the day his astrologer assumed great power, the same day as the evil surge from the south, the day before the feckless Lord lost all interest in his obsessions. Orórin knew the faithful Maiar but not all of the dark ones, now mostly dead in Middle-earth. This spirit had that feel. 

In the darkness, Gandalf said, “I will help you. If the host attacks in the north, you must fly there. If they come here, you will need more than the thirty-eight.” 

The changeling shifted his feet a little after long sitting and said more quietly, "Will **they** come?"

"The heroes?"

"Yes, the heroes. Somehow I've imagined the Dagor Dagorath, in its various versions, as a great struggle of huge hosts. My little wars have been ambushes, assassinations really, meant to be over before the enemy notices the deception." He chuckled, "A Dagor Middling, hardly worth mentioning in the annals of the mighty."

Gandalf set his pipe in the grass. "I am sorry I cannot say, for which I apologize. Glorfindel awaits. Eärendil looks down every night. There are others known and probably many long dead placed in reserve for life in war. The Valar know this. They may be poised to spring." The wizard said with resignation, "Do not rely on that." 

His former pupil gave that a moment's thought, “Somehow I think Morgoth is doing the same as me. This is not a probe. Two gardh armies frothing for blood are as many troops as he can ever raise in this placid land. They don't have the weapons or the food for a long campaign. I suspect he cannot pull great horrors from the void with him if he has to squeeze through like a newborn." 

Nag Kath stood to stretch, "If Meliath’s hosts combine to move on this position, I can far-speak to Galadriel, well enough to let her know. She will be listening. Water that gureeq seed.” 

Two days later, Meliath turned west. His southern armies would join those of the northern corridor and cut the corner of the lordless lands into Thornost. That night, the Elf called to the great witch. He could not understand the response, but he got one. They had two days to get here, maybe three. Nag Kath embraced his dear mentor, donned his Naitë teamster uniform and rode Shultö like the wind to the camp of darkness.

______________------_____________

Selvas, in his new body, was fuming with the same problem. He called the attack orders to Vantieth. He could not tell if they had been received. They had not been acknowledged. The Chancellor expected Galadriel’s forces to defend the bridge else Farnemar's ohtars must detour east and then return to the foothills road, an extra two weeks marching … if they were marching at all.

He stomped into Meliath’s tent and groused, “We must hope they are doing as told. I will keep sending my orders!” 

Meliath, now completely Selvas’ creature, was still of weak stock. He quailed, “Scouts on the Raniduin reported an enemy host above us.”

Selvas growled, “Nothing takes us from our lord’s bidding.”

Meliath gained in strength to say, “The peasants have burned their fields. We have only the one silo!”

“We will find more. They will not have burned their secret stores. After we cross, have foragers fan wide for granaries. If not, we arrive hungry and grind their bones to meal. Issue the order. We march with the dawn."

One hundred miles north, allied Lords were called to the King’s tent. Galadriel asserted, “I received the signal that Meliath has turned towards the lordless lands. We march hard to meet them or they will consolidate for the push into our capitals.”

King Finarfin asked grimly, “How much time do we have?”

Elrond had discussed the contingency with Galadriel and Celeborn and delivered the tidings, “Two days at worst, perhaps more if Nag Kath’s sorcery can delay them. We will arrive tired and wet but we can get there.”

Finarfin said simply, “Leave the tents. Gather what we need. We march in an hour.”

Nag Kath slapped Shultö across the rump after tossing the saddle and tack in the bushes, hoping the fine horse would survive. Then he relieved himself in view of other drovers as if having wandered off to do so and joined them by a fire. No one said anything. Battle was coming. They guarded their own thoughts. Dinner was a piece of Lembas since he would not touch bread from the silo.

In the morning the order was given to move at best speed due west. Meliath's tent attendant did not report for duty so a tall, scarred teamster replaced him. He was told to tear it down and bring up the rear. With single-horse wagons carrying more than they should, going was slow. Sometimes men had to push or clear rocks in the rutted, lordless roads. Trees had been felled across the path. Meliath and Selvas/Talifür’s attendants helped erect the large tent when the drover brought it up with the last of the column. As expected, the new teamster stood by to assist if called. That amounted to emptying the privy bucket. 

The next morning they reached the burned fields. This time Meliath was seething. These lordless lands should be his! Selvas was less concerned. Foragers were already scouring the countryside for hidden villagers and their hidden stores. Since they were also the advance scouts, progress slowed for them to poke through burned gullies and farmhouses. They found no farmers and no silos. There was enough food for three days. Selvas would drive them to starvation but they would fight better fed. 

That evening brought them to two abandoned villages. How had these people known to leave? It did not matter. They were gone and their crops had finally quit smoldering. The forests encroached but there was no food for soldiers there. Towards the end of the day, forward scouts discovered a large granary built into the side of a hill. Two farmers standing guard saw the cavalry and ran into the trees. It was fully four tons of wheat, a year old, but not infested. A thousand foot ohtars were sent with buckets and bags to distribute it to their companies for grinding into a week’s bread. Had anyone noticed, the taciturn teamster did not share in that either.

______________------_____________

The next morning was a goat’s breakfast of ill-coordination. Four in ten soldiers consumed the binding grain at the first depot. Combined with the wheat here, they were witless and quickly lost everything they ate the night before. The rest were less than their best. Meliath tried to act nobly but was revolted by his troopers scurrying to the latrine ditches or drooling while their eyes tried to focus. The tall teamster looked ill but was strong enough to take down the tent with only one other and load it into his wagon. 

Selvas stalked among the troops in disgust. The grain must have had rats! Nag Kath could not fathom how he didn’t see the sorcery but it might be that lowly Middle-earth witch’s brews were not of his ken. The Chancellor stepped in something unpleasant and unleashed a fury of Black Speech that no one noticed. They only marched far enough that day to dig new latrines. If Nag Kath’s calendar held true, they would reach the valley tomorrow at mid-day, the last day of Gelansor. 

Allied Elves were footsore and weary but they converged on the valley from the higher, northern side. Scouts reported the enemy was in a sprawling, undefended camp to their southeast. If the allies had artillery, they would have had the ideal place to mount it, pointed down at where Meliath’s corps would pass the last line of low hills. 

The dark forces now stood at eleven thousand, more than thought but at less than full competence. Almost eight thousand were under King Finarfin’s banner with twice the enemy’s horse for flanking and harrying skirmishers. Celeborn and Galadriel’s two thousand foot and half of the cavalry were positioned at the bottom of the valley in plain sight along with most of the King’s ohtars. Elrond’s fifteen hundred and his cavalry were hidden in the northern forest. Felaour’s ohtars and the King’s other column were also in the forest a quarter mile further west. 

One of the pieces of luck the allies counted on held. Neither Selvas nor Meliath were generals, despite the fancy armor. Seeing a host of five thousand waiting for them slightly downhill seemed a perfect opportunity for brute force. Naitë flankers were sent to take the south slope of the valley followed by their left column to secure a salient in the meandering creek. Allied forces in view sounded the charge and the bulk of Celeborn’s cavalry in plain view swept into the flankers, driving them towards allied pike-men. Finarfin’s archers rained arrows down on the tightly-packed Naitë infantry.

Selvas saw his troops were stalled and commanded the remaining corps to relieve them, less the reserves still working up the last low hill. Among them was the slow-coach carrying the commanders’ tent. By then, foot soldiers were exchanging blows on the southern slope with casualties on both sides. As dark forces reinforced the initial wave, they began to push the allies back. 

That changed when from somewhere in the forest behind Meliath issued the horrible cry of tsitsi warags howling their fell songs. Immediately, a quarter of the Naitë troopers began retching and dropping their weapons in confusion. They did not want to be here. Persuasive heralds urged them from their farms and cities in this holy quest to vanquish those who had skulked back from the ruins of Middle-earth. Now they questioned their decisions. 

Selvas saw the tide change again and ordered his reserves down the rivulet. That was when Elrond commanded the last of the cavalry and foot down from the forest to slice the reserves in two. It would be a terrible battle, probably decided for the allies. Nag Kath needed it to be as grim as possible for an entirely different reason. He needed the anger to tear the fabric of the void just a little wider.

With the advances stalled, Selvas told Meliath to ride north with his personal guard to oversee his main force. Selvas remained behind and watched both his bodyguards suddenly freeze as if statues. That spell would not work on a wizard but a bringing spell did as the black Elf flew fifty feet to the grip of his tent-bearer standing in the little creek. Nag Kath tore into Selvas’ brain and ordered, “Call our Lord. Victory is his. He must claim it now.”

Selvas tried to resist but the Quendu was too strong. The tall Elf also had a link to the darkness, amplifying the signal. Was this another of Melkor’s servants here to see his will done? Some remaining portion of Talifür recognized the scarred face and resisted again until a blast of Melkor’s own power surged through his body and he sent the call.

Message delivered, Nag Kath turned the creature’s brain. Selvas crumpled mindlessly in the stream. Killing him would have been justice, but he needed the beacon alive. 

The changeling yanked a steel wire hidden in his tunic collar. Attached was the cursed nipper buried in the flesh of his neck under the ‘Kath’ tattoo. He 'borrowed' it in Thornost before he left. Selvas was not strong enough to send the signal himself from here. Combined with the resurgent power of the long-lost spy Celebrían, the dark lord knew victory against her loathed family was finally at hand. 

______________-------______________

Nag Kath dropped the coin on the twitching servant and walked upstream, needing to confuse several of his own troops attacking him in the Naitë uniform. A cloud began forming over Selvas' body. It stood as if in perfect health but the face registered nothing. The smoke became heat, distorted like images on the other side of a fire. Selvas took new form, darker yet transparent. Fighting slowed everywhere and stopped entirely near the apparition. A minute later, the vaporous form of Morgoth took shape, thirty feet tall and terrible beyond comprehension. He growled at the battle field.

Appearing from nowhere, a bemused old Khandian stood downstream where the seed was planted, not twenty paces from the spirit of the darkest lord. The codger raised his hand and a thin beam of pale light struck Morgoth. The ancient evil turned to laugh in disdain before counterattacking with a more powerful beam of his own. Gandalf, standing in the allied host with a new staff, directed his power to the little man whose strength grew to be matched by the dark lord’s. Orlo wasn’t attacking. He was draining energy from the larval dark lord. 

The little Khandian was losing and faded into mist just as a flash of fire ran down the rivulet and inflamed the dark lord from behind. Before he could become flesh, Morgoth turned and howled in fury. His power was redirected to the silver Naitë teamster who warded some of the sorcery to ground and transformed the rest into his own fire spell surrounding the quickening Foe.

The intensity of the flame grew, turning anger to pain. Nag Kath maintained his spell standing ankle deep in the creek, sending all power into the inferno. With a turn of his hand, the flaming apparition began to slowly spin. Morgoth’s screams turned from anger to pain to fear as the whirlwind burned hotter.

After a few moments, the cry became a whimper and then stopped. The mass was now spinning faster than eyes could tell, whining from the velocity as it grew thinner and higher in fire born of water. Nag Kath staggered towards the dark lord before dropping to his knees and pounding the heel of his fist into the creek-bed, the last image of Galadriel’s mirror.

The spinning blaze froze for a moment and then shot into the sky like one of Gandalf’s rockets, except it did not explode. It kept climbing straight into the blue until it was not visible even to Elf eyes. From where it had flown, a blast like the death of the One Ring blew through the field. All fighting stopped. A hundred Elves suddenly collapsed as their hearts burst. Morgoth’s dying took his servants with him, including several on the allied side. 

Nag Kath opened his fist, palm punctured by squeezing the remains of Saruman’s staff crown so tightly. It was completely spent. He dragged himself from the stream and said in a voice that could be heard for miles, “Ohtars of Naitë, your dark lord Morgoth is destroyed. Lay down your weapons and accept such mercy as your good sense will gain you.”

Most of them did, but Meliath’s personal guard, who had suffered heavy casualties and then saw their lord throw blood from his mouth, nocked arrows and fired a volley at the traitorous teamster. As if he was holding an umbrella, the arrows slid to the side. He grimaced at them and sent another stream of fire up the hill, incinerating thirty archers in a flash.

______________-------______________

Point made' remaining weapons fell with a collective clank. The changeling called in the same rumble audible everywhere, “In one hour, send your new leaders to hear terms.” Then he trudged twenty feet up the hill and flopped on his bottom with his head between his knees. 

Enemies gathered among themselves to discuss how to deal with this. Very few of them had any idea there was sorcery involved, much less from the blackest ever villain. With what seemed a gentleman’s accord, the wounded were immediately tended by their comrades. Allied commanders sent aides running to Nag Kath. When they arrived he groaned, “We must talk. Please bring our Captains.” The Lords agreed and followed their personal guards to the creek-bank. None were killed, although Celeborn took an arrow in the shoulder. Elrond had already healed it. 

King Finarfin said gravely, “We thought you betrayed us when you emerged from the enemy host. Forgive us.”

On another day Nag Kath might have grinned. He nodded in honor to the great lord and started peeling the scar makeup off his face.

Galadriel had her hands on her hips surveying the carnage and the witless soldiers still walking as if in their sleep. “What do we make of this?” Then she looked at Elrond, "They didn't come."

Elrond almost answered but kept his eyes on Nag Kath who was fighting to focus. Meanwhile, Gandalf slowly made his way where to the little man attacked the specter and vanished, tapping the ground with a new staff crowned by two crystals.

Belatedly responding to the Lady, the changeling rasped, “We send them home to make this land what it should have been.” No one gainsaid him. The allied lords sat in the grass waiting for those who would be coming shortly. They spoke among themselves. Nag Kath just looked at the little creek that had all the answers. 

Elladan called in victory, “Nag, who was the little Easterling fighting Morgoth?”

One of Celeborn’s staff countered, “What Easterling? I saw Gandalf as he looked of old.”

Another disputed, “Nay, it was a powerful Variag woman.”

Gandalf answered, “He was of my order, one I had quite forgotten. Fear not, he will be waiting in the great halls for us.” The wizard looked at Nag Kath; “Won’t he?”

A troop of twelve came from the surviving host. Meliath was dead as well as nearly half of the noble officers or their aides whose hearts burst. Many of those arriving were hastily elected to their office. They bowed and were equally bowed by the allies who invited them to sit. Nag Kath stayed where he collapsed in the grass away from both.

A young Lord from the Fantiel district of central Naitë, nephew of Meliath, was chosen as their Sayer. He spoke clearly and without fear, “We have come, though we know not what terrible power you unleashed here today. Say what you will.”

Elrond was designated as the allied Sayer, “The terrible power you saw destroyed was Morgoth who controlled your lords and incited you to war.”

Meliath had not designated an heir. Those who fancied themselves dark lords seldom did. The succession was even muddier now. Lord Xevandor, continued, “Then we are not to blame for this tragedy the Valar fomented.”

Elrond was pitiless. “No, you are entirely to blame for your petty and cruel hatred. You betrayed the Holy Ones to serve their accursed cast-off. The Black Foe could never have put one toe on this land without shameful support from the lot of you.” 

Allied forces were gathering weapons and herding enemy ohtars into surrounded groups. There was no leaving with their heads held high. They should consider themselves lucky to still have them. Preliminary accounts were that four hundred allies were killed and that many wounded. Enemy dead stood at seventeen hundred, many of whom staggered unarmed into a wall of spears. Cavalry losses on both sides were heavy.

A Naitë commander holding a bleeding arm limply at his side demanded, “You have the advantage of us. What is your judgment? I have soldiers a-dying and I would send them to Mandos with a prayer on their brow.”

Another field officer shouted, “You, who sits in silence, you are the true lord of this host. What are your terms?”

Nag Kath looked up to the group and said gravely, “I have two conditions. The first is that you go home and behave like you deserve to live in these lands. Being an Elf is an honor you have sullied. You will spend the rest of your lives regaining it. Bury your dead, care for your injured and give succor to the families of both in penance. 

"My other condition is that I be allowed to walk among your wounded as a healer. There may be some I can save. If there is to be rapprochement, let it start this moment.”

The enemy host looked at each other. Xevandor nodded. It was done. Nag Kath rose in his teamster tunic slowly, creaking like a bowstring. When he reached his full height, the General with the injured arm cried, “And what happens to you? You have taken all power unto yourself. I do not want to live in a world where the free-will you espouse is tainted by equal terror.”

Nag Kath appeared to consider that for a long moment and said, “I will go to Valmar and present myself.”

Another very new Lord who had watched his beloved father’s lungs explode spat in vehemence, “Think you to petition your place among them?!”

The changeling shook his head and muttered, “No, like a good neighbor, I will return those tools I have been lent. You will not see me again such as I am.”

Gandalf put his hand on the changeling’s shoulder, “I will show you the way.”

Both of them looked over the killing-field. Nag Kath remembered his vision in the mirror. Perhaps someday it would be beautiful again.


	14. Assizes

**_Chapter 14_ **

**_Assizes_ **

In addition to Valinor Topo there is a map of Valinor in the IMGUR page: <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

The War of Reconciliation, as it came to be known, was unique in the long, bloody annals of conflict. This was no terrible slaughter. Losers were given quarter. When Morgoth was launched into the stars, everyone just stopped fighting. Most of the un-Elvish hatred he sowed in the Naitë troops went with him. The mix of allied Ñoldorin, Felaour’s Teleri and the newcomers still had their differences with the conservatives, but they hardly knew each other. Deputations from both sides met informally to gauge sentiment. The officers of Naitë were allowed to keep their weapons. King Finarfin ordered ‘clean’ wheat delivered to them since, he was told, rats had spoiled theirs. Even Elves would take a year to clear the Lostorin. 

After two days of healing and burials, Lord Felaour’s troops headed north and the army of the west started the trudge home. As they broke camp, families of the shamed Attëa Súlë watched from the northern forest edge. King Finarfin dismounted, walked to the base of the hill and bowed deeply, followed by every ohtar who could stand. It was a bitter and unsought victory for the soldiers of the Aelius Company, but they were saluted nonetheless.

No one on the allied side found Shultö so Nag Kath walked along with a lot of other troopers whose horses were under the wounded. They and the infantry were curious and respectful of the changeling but not awestruck like the the Bresto crew. Many of these ohtars fought against Sauron. Some fought Morgoth the last time. You fight sorcery with sorcery when you can.

At night Nag Kath did a lot of explaining since he was the only one who knew what he did. His initiative was not part of the official strategy but, given the outcome, quite forgiven. Gandalf took him aside several times to discuss the extraordinary combination of spells; all variations of ones the changeling learned in Middle-earth. Nag Kath was sure the dark lord would be weakest as he reclaimed physical form. That gamble paid. The youngster also had a belated private meeting with the King. To varying degrees of later amusement, Finarfin’s guards instinctively snapped to attention when the sorcerer left the borrowed Naitë tent.

It did not turn their battle but four days short of Thornost, tidings arrived that Galadriel’s far-speaking was effective enough to have Vantieth dither while her artillery destroyed the bridge over the middle of the three Athradduin tributaries. In the mayhem, Thranduil marched two thousand of his infantry under the southern bridge, effectively trapping Lindareth’s forces between the rivers. Prince Legolas led another fourteen hundred foot from his city to capture the main bridge above the capital Raniegal, sealing that avenue to aid Naitë.

Vantieth was on the verge of assaulting the lower bridge when Morgoth’s demise settled him and his worm-tongue Rohier in blood. Their officers immediately sued for peace and were allowed to return to the capital after surrendering their weapons in King Thranduil’s safekeeping for ten years. There must have been swords at home because Lord Lindareth didn’t last the night when his outraged army settled scores with the dark lord’s last servant.

That news put a new complexion on the evening military discussion. The strategists agreed that Meliath’s army would have been defeated within several hours of engagement even without the changeling’s magic. Simply put; the finest warriors in the world were on the allied side and the Naitë were greenbottoms. New swords do not soldiers make. And what madness caused Meliath and Selvas to force the battle without certainty that Lindareth’s forces were closing the pincer? One of Celeborn’s staff officers scoffed that the Naitë did not even scout the northern forest edge for the allied flank. It was only then that Galadriel admitted she sent the far-speaking confirmation Selvas expected using Vantieth's own pitch. She also ‘borrowed’ Nag Kath’s confusion spell for a friendly chat with Meliath’s bored pickets where the allied host emerged from the northern forest. That was good for one of her enigmatic smiles.

Breaking camp the next day, Galadriel reassured the quiet changeling, "There, you see! You were strong and will return to her."

"The risk wasn't death my Lady. Many died, finding their way to great halls. The risk was that in taking the coin unto myself I would fall to it. I am a creature of constant memory, no childhood forgotten. The beast is still there. I needed his help." He offered his own faint smile, "I have learned to ignore him."

___________----------___________

Thirteen days after the battle the main force arrived in the capital Thornost tired and filthy. A week was dedicated to rest and as much celebrating as is proper among Elves. The Princess gave her victorious husband a more personal greeting. They mostly stayed out of sight except when King Finarfin spent time with his new Princess grand-daughter.

As the week ended, the Kaths and Gandalf had cold tea in a garden. The wizard chuckled, “Now it is time to pay for your crimes, dear boy.”

“Yes, I brought that on myself rather neatly, didn’t I?”

Inariel blanched, “What crimes?! My husband is a hero!”

The couple had to wait while Orórin filled the perfect bowl. It wasn’t as much fun without a beard to catch the ashes. Nag Kath enjoyed the ritual just the same. Her Highness WOULD be attended, “What crimes you old villain?!”

When the pipe was lit, the wizard said gravely, “For taking the life of the greatest of the Ainur. Your husband slew one of Ilúvatar’s creations!”

“But he was the soul of evil and a great murderer! I do not understand!”

Nag Kath comforted her, “Inara, my love, it doesn’t matter how terrible he was. He was above my station to destroy. The Valar, Gandalf correct me if I am wrong, imprisoned him because they did not have the authority to slay him either. They thought they could spirit him away forever. One time they let him go. This time I broke him out of gaol.”

How could these revered beings be so cruel? More infuriating; why was her husband amused watching the feckless wizard blow smoke rings?! As tears ran down her face she pleaded, “Why?”

Gandalf had a last, unsatisfying puff and answered, “Your husband has been accumulating little gifts his whole life, some from me. How he came by them is of great moment. They made him a powerful sorcerer, though he denies it. Those gifts destroyed Melkor, Eru’s greatest being. It took someone like your husband; servant to no one. Now that labor is done. The Holy Ones will have their reckoning for the terror this creates.”

Inariel was a creature of feeling. This was a terrible feeling and not deserved at all! The Princess began thinking of her husband, always thoughtful and caring, but no; not always. Once he was a monster made to murder the innocent. He destroyed four rulers of men and now several Elf Lords, just the sort of assassin no one would miss after token platitudes.

Oh no! She would fight for him. They would leave here and go home, away from these ungrateful godlings! Inara was furious, “Why didn’t the gods manage Melkor themselves?! Lazy landlords who let their buildings crumble and curse the masons!” Her parents instilled duty into their daughter. She had not seen any from the Holy Ones. 

Plainly put; no one else had either. Perhaps it took all the Valar had to keep the sun rising and air in the sky. Easterlings had given-up on them an age ago when Sauron, a lesser servant by learned accounts, ran roughshod over the weary, starving people. Why would anyone pray or honor spirits that would not ease their suffering? The very heavens were re-cast to explain their lot in life. That was why the changeling was such a surprise – but he was more a janitor sweeping-up after free-peoples of the west scoured the black hosts. 

Nag Kath held her gently and wiped her cheeks with his sleeve. “My darling, do you remember me telling you of the great Rohirrim who gave me the sword?”

“Of course. You earned it slaying the wargs.” He did not correct that to a single warg since it hadn't worked yet.

“I earned it because I helped his men, the very men I was created to kill. I had changed enough to be worthy. But there is another story to Lord Altheras. A Mûmikil crushed his knee on the Pelennor. The surgeon said the leg must be removed. Before he swooned, Altheras ordered his men to kill anyone who tried.

“When he was unconscious, his soldiers knew the leg would rot and told the doctor to do what he must. The good Lord lived. Upon discovering he was a cripple, he cursed his men, called them disloyal and many worse names until his wrath was spent. The next day, he summoned them to his bed and forgave each and every one because their love was so great they would not be parted from him. He worked hard. He learned to ride again and went home in the saddle, a proud Marshal of the Mark. It was from him that I knew I would find my place in the world.”

Fighting through his own tears he continued, “I am the men who disobeyed their Lord to do the right thing. If an Uruk-hai can be forgiven by a Rohirrim, a well-meaning changeling might be forgiven by those he served so many times, just like your granda Eärendil of the star.

He held her delicate chin, “Do not fear, my love. I cannot continue like this anymore than I could have stayed in Middle-earth. I think the future holds favor. Promise only that you will stay by my side.”

She was inconsolable. What would they do to him? She worried about her husband in her secret heart. The grin was gone. He took the casualties very hard. There were fewer than if he hadn’t done what he did, but he was the architect of the battle. Two thousand Elves were killed in the greatest slaying of this the Undying Lands. Rather than let his beloved wife fret, he held her and gradually applied a spell that let her sleep dreamlessly, resting for the long road ahead.

King Finarfin and the southern Lords saw the sun smile on the realms of the east. Upon learning Lindareth and a goodly number of his minions were slain, His Lordship sent a deputation of politically-astute officers south to assess the breakaway Ñoldorin gardh. It the path wasn’t too dangerous, half of them were to continue south to thank King Thranduil for remembering old friends. Whether they got through or were turned away, a proper embassy would be sent from Tirion through Lord Cirdan’s now-safe harbor.

The King was less sure of Naitë. He had no sway with Meliath’s Teleri and, regrettably, not much more with their ostensible King Olwë who would also be assessing the headless gardh. Finarfin’s voice might have weight along the border but Arnost was beyond his influence. 

Civil-war was the bigger concern. Naitë had stopped being Elvish in the best sense of the kindred. Regaining that would take time. With the deaths of most regional lords, the survivors might fall on themselves like wargs over the fat-pickings. There had been no damage to the land itself with the blood of their ohtars soaking the lordless-lands. 

The victorious lords knew this would change things above the battlefield too, probably for the better, but not to be taken unadvisedly. As much as Celeborn and Galadriel would like to stay home, they chose to journey north with her father for high councils. The host would stop in Harvién shortly and continue to Tirion with the Lady Celebrían. 

Galadriel and Celeborn waved goodbye to their honored ohtars and citizens and reined-in with the King’s columns. Nag Kath and Inariel were just behind, the latter still fuming about the unfairness of the summons and her husband’s seeming unconcern. Both had horses for this leg of the journey, although Nag Kath often walked with the troops. The army still traveled at the speed of foot soldiers. From tradition in peace or war, Finarfin dug lightly-fortified camps every night because it was a good habit to secure the edges. His progress was still quicker than the trudge to Celeborn’s capital after the battle. They made the border of Harvien in nine days. 

Harvién was quite small compared to any but Lord Cirdan’s cities, but Elrond’s people were overjoyed to see him and welcomed their brave heroes. As in Thornost, their entire existence in these lands had been dogged by hostiles both south and east. They were concerned but not scared. Now they were neither. Celeborn and Galadriel’s, Elrond’s and Thranduil’s troops were the best, and most battle-hardened of the Eldar in Middle-earth. 

Lady Celebrián was fully healed with her glow and fairness restored. She would have died if the coin was still inside her. Nag Kath assured her the nipper was far away and ran a few discreet tests finding no residual taint. Elrond and his wife feted their subjects for two days and then mounted with their retainers for the long trip to Tirion. 

____________-------____________

King Finarfin and his company made straight up the foothill road. His Archal spear brigade took heavy casualties but the bulk of his forces had only just engaged when Morgoth’s appearance scuttled the battle. With over three thousand fighters and non-combatants, he wanted to get them home safely and soon. 

The first five days were through Lord Felaour’s western lands. He and his retinue met them at the Valaduin for another lordly conference. Felaour’s courage and commitment held him in very good stead. Unwelcome Ñoldorin on the Naitë side of the Rainduin had been fleeing un-Elvish ways for ten years telling harrowing tales of persecution and abuse. At the least, it would allow his Lordship to rehabilitate the neglected harbor at the river-mouth, the only sheltered anchorage on this smooth stretch of coast. Lord Felaour hoped to join them in Tirion after making sure Meliath’s replacement wasn’t cut from the came cloth. He did send First Counsellor Vierlies and his retinue with the King’s progress.

The River Valaduin, River of the Valar, flowed from the low pass below the Holy Mountain of Taniquetil. This was where Orórin said his goodbyes. In good weather that was the shortcut into the heart of the truly Elven Undying Lands, home to the Valar and Vanyar Elves. He said he needed to speak with even higher lords about the bleeding of Eldamar.

Before he saddled Mahquar, the wizards walked off alone for a few words about the assizes of Aman. This called for a pipe of the best leaf. Gandalf shook-out his match and stretched his legs in the grass. “You must visit me in Valmar before year’s end. There are wounds yet to bandage.”

“I gathered as much. This doesn’t seem pressing.”

“Not in your time, no. For around here, yes. This makes a goat's breakfast of the Prophesy.”

The changeling pondered that, “I gather our little war did not go as foreseen.”

The White Wizard puffed and chuckled, “For someone so young you have a knack for understatement. You know the lore leading to the fight. The old Prophesy also foretold the ending of days, a renewal of all the earth without the fell influences that have crept into life over so many years – that the weary Valar would be refreshed to continue their labors. The Elves all thought that would be an Age away.”

Nag Kath scoffed, “They lied to themselves – a fatal error. Elves wouldn’t call their gods feeble any more than a groom would tell his old lord he was too doddering to ride his horse. The Holy Ones must be long weakened if they didn’t squash this lesser Melkor like a gureeq grub.”

Gandalf stared, amused and aghast, as his pupil continued, “I alone in the world have seen every one of Sauron’s former realms – places where the great gardeners did not pluck the weeds. Before the barest victory at the Black Gate, every soul in those lands was long past hope. How could they possibly believe in mighty gods who never once swept crumbs off their table to feed their starving children? Orlo said as much when he first found me, and he is one of Those Named!

“Perhaps it only my orcish sense of time. Sauron’s black clouds now bring rain. People can see mountain snow melting to water their crops and beasts. Threshold spirits are better esteemed when daughters marry and orcs are forgotten.”

Yes, Gandalf told himself, yes, the lad was right. Had either of them known, Arwen was right too. Morgoth the Black Foe had long been scraping the fabric of his confinement – his keepers too drained and stretched to maintain their vigilance. 

Now, what would the Valar do with the changeling? He wasn’t subtle enough to abase himself at their merciful feet, especially if Princess Inariel gave them an earful first! They had their own problems. His leaving King Finarfin’s host was specifically to prepare the Kaths entrée among the oldest beings on earth. 

He took his last puff and placed the pipe in the grass before saying, “Do this slowly. I travel to reconcile what was foreseen and did not occur. Your sacrifices will not be obvious. Like a favored few before you, service in fealty may be asked to close the gaps in our world.” He looked in the young Elf’s eyes, “Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Nag Kath chuckled as well, “That or I sic my Lady-Fair at their heels.”

“She will have other chores – more along her royal upbringing. Now, begin your labors by tossing my bag on Mahquar and lacing it down tight.” 

____________-------___________

It was another four hundred miles to Tirion along the same road Nag Kath and Inariel rode on the way south. Word was out and they were cheered along the route. The returning army was held in a certain awe that went far past victory. These were the Ñoldorin. Finarfin was the last son of Finwë and half-brother of Fëanor who created the Silmarils of uncounted horrors – not to mention those seeing-stones. He brought his ohtars home having finally put Morgoth to legend – Morgoth who smote so many of his kin. It balanced the family’s debt to Elvendom. Finarfin rode to his duty but it wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized why his people were so inspired. 

The city of Tirion was decked in splendor. Banners flew from every window. The army was not under orders to remain together and dissipated upon reaching their homes. Three days later they would be honored with a parade along the Avenue of Light. After proper cleaning and Elvish elements, the Kaths were introduced to Queen Eärwen. She smiled her secret smile at her husband because the youngster did indeed have more than a passing similarity to her King. 

Eärwen was enchanted with baby Inariel. She would keep her forever if she could. After an eternity of having none of their children near them, daughter Galadriel returned only a hundred fifty years ago and the twins not long after. Now their grand-daughter had her mind restored and there was this lovely child who still had eye-rings! The family she thought lost returned to her bosom just as the stain of the Ñoldorin was cleansed. Those who knew her had never seen her so radiant.

There was a lot of time for family but the Lords and Ladies of Mélamar came for business. Lord Felaour shared his thoughts during the King’s progress and sent his Lord Chancellor with the party to represent his gardh at these councils. Lord Cirdan was expected shortly. 

King Olwë remained a mystery. He returned to Valinor from Middle-earth with most of his people when his older brother, known as King Elu Thingol of Doriath, disappeared in a romantic trance for hundreds of years. Thingol was slain in much later wars, leaving Olwë to rule first on Tol Eressëa and later including the mainland with a capital in Alqualondë. He and his subjects flourished. His only daughter Eärwin married Finarfin when he was a minor Ñoldorin prince. Olwë later refused to aid Finarfin’s half-brother Feänor in his war to reclaim the Silmaril jewels stolen by Morgoth causing the great sundering and kinslaying of the Elvish houses.

Against that backdrop, Olwë stayed to his lands and was cordial but not embracing of his former antagonists. Elves of his own two cities didn’t see much of each other. The King exchanged letters with Eärwen and she visited him often – every three hundred years or so.

The Teleri maintained a large embassy here in Tirion but it was largely for cultural exchange. Their people, the largest of the three Elven clans, were fond of singing and poetry. Ambassador Melvó was probably not the Quenda to represent them in sharp-elbowed politics. King Finarfin was sure some ranking member of the court would come to his invitation – perhaps even Olwë. Who and when were open questions.

In the meantime, there was the matter of southern Eldamar. The two antagonistic gardhs were now headless along with the third that liked it that way. The outcome was probably an improvement, but it would take at least a cycle to ask the right questions of the right people. Cirdan kept abreast of Naitë from his southern port and was expected within the month. The curious changeling had the most useful information. He alone had seen both deceased rulers recently and learned that the appearance of Selvas six or seven years ago coincided with arming the subjects. That rot had overtaken the cities and nobility but Elves in the countryside were relatively unscathed – it being too quick, in Elvish sensibilities, to permeate the entire populace.

Nag Kath and occasionally Inariel were called to high councils. The rest of the time was spent exploring the extraordinary Elven capital or preparing to leave for Valmar. The Lords of the east knew they must go. In Valaran time, that could be years from now. Inariel was beginning to see that if the great ones couldn’t be bothered with Morgoth, they weren’t sending a posse for her husband. In support, all of the lords present signed a letter to the doorman of Máhanaxar, high court of the Valar, strongly supporting the changeling’s actions. Their petitions of help against Melkor went unheeded so they didn’t know if this resolution had weight. It couldn’t hurt.

By necessity, the young outsiders were quickly elevated to the society of high lords. Relations were good, but varied. Galadriel was friend to Nag Kath and they spoke as close to equals as was possible – given their backgrounds. She was a bit of a rebel too. It had gotten her in trouble before and she took that with grace. Celebrían was quietly friendly. Her healer continued sharing his techniques for restoring memory. Sometimes she and the young Kaths would sit in the rose garden and he would draw her recollections, almost like reconstructing a face from another’s past. By the time they were ready to leave, he was sure she was completely restored, a blessing for her Lord Elrond and sons. 

Celeborn was reserved with them. He was reserved with everyone so that didn’t signify. They saw his tender side when reunited with Celebrían. It took a great effort coming to terms with her madness. The relief was that much the stronger. Wise and fair, he was a bit like an Uncle too far in age from the youngsters to be a friend but kindly all the same.

Queen Eärwin was a dear. She spent many hours with her lovely grand-baby. Despite knowing how young she was in Eldar-reckoning, Inara thought of herself as a middle-aged human with a second lease on life. The Princess did not insist on independence. If the greatest Quenda in the land wanted to coddle her, she could. Her Highness got along well with Nag Kath too, something of a curiosity, but well mannered. He also drew lovely pictures of her and her husband. As politically savvy as any of them, she also let a few things drop that gave great context to the courtly discussions upstairs.

King Finarfin himself was a bit like Celeborn but asked soldierly questions of the engagement and explained the great battles he had fought. Poxing their opponents might not qualify for statuary among great Elvish heroes, but at a two-to-three disadvantage in numbers, it was good thinking using the tools to hand. It was also more than more learned Lords had managed. Finarfin expected that and held no rancor against those who did not lend aid. They hadn’t supported the Ñoldorin who didn’t deserve it long ago. 

Elrohir slowly warmed to Nag Kath. He loved his niece. Her husband came with the package. If the orc/changeling took the boot off the neck of his beloved lands and family, he must be a good-un. Elladan always got along with the curiosity. They were quite similar in many ways. Elladan was much more a creature of Middle-earth than the Undying Lands. A warrior, like his brother, this was a very tame place. A perfectly good war was spoiled when the enemy had the runs! Nag Kath was sure Elladan could close a Dwarvish tavern in style and he had a good singing voice. The Quendu offered to come with the Kaths as protector and to see it with his own eyes. His future was here and, in a breath of wind, was rumored to be forming an attachment with a young lady he met while seconded to his grandparents preparing for the march south. In this land, a whirlwind romance could last fifty years so they had time to write the invitations.

___________--------___________

Two days before the Kaths saddled-up, Elrond visited their quarters. That hadn’t happened before. They showed him into their suite and found a goblet of cold tea. Elrond had always been fair and caring of the young couple; both of them. Outside of Orórin, he was the most fatherly with a touch of reserve learned over his hard life.

It seemed to Inariel that the great Lord sat uncomfortably. Elrond took a sip and began, primarily speaking to Inara, “I do not know how much you know of your heritage. Let me add some detail and in return I would ask, humbly ask, a favor, if it is within your powers.” That last bit he directed to Nag Kath. “The War of Wrath sundered a great many things. It put paid to Morgoth the first time. Not well enough, I regret.

“My mother and father came to this city to plead for help against Morgoth, he being the first man to set foot in the Undying Lands. He was spared death for defying the ban of men for his selflessness. The Valar agreed and summoned a great host for the long, bitter war that eventually bound the Black Foe Morgoth behind the Door of Night. Nag Kath, you are sensitive to holes in that confinement and came at the right time.”

The Elf Lord gathered himself, “Father Eärendil earned high honor in the battles, slaying the great dragon Ancalagon. That did not completely absolve him of traveling to Valinor. It is said he now pilots his ship in the heavens with the last known Silmaril on his brow …” He pointed to the star now just appearing on the horizon “… the stone your granda Beren recaptured from Morgoth. We know the light as the Star of Eärendil. 

“This gets complicated.” He looked to his audience who seemed to be taking this in stride. “It is said that Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar, once prophesied that Morgoth would return to fight a vast host in the Dagor Dagorath, the greatest and last battle of our world. The Valar would prevail, but it would be the ending of a great many things. I suspect Morgoth knew of that and planned a different ending. 

“As is the way of things, we on earth do not know if this was something that must occur or simply might. Mr. Kath, you beat him to the punch and scuttled that doom, happily, if my opinion is asked. But it leaves a great many things unfulfilled.”

Nag Kath did not mention Aragorn's, Gandalf’s or Logass' version of the Prophesy. They all sounded fairly close. Elrond set his hands on his knees and leaned forward, “Even the wisest cannot tell where this new river flows. One of the many parts of the prophesy was that father Eärendil would return to earth with his Silmaril and help defeat the dark lord. The other two Silmarils would be resurrected, how I know not, and would restore their light to the Two Trees. In broad terms, our friends were of light and enemies against it.”

The Lord of Harvién stopped to gauge his progress. Inariel ventured, “Grandfather, I think I see your mind. You wish to know your father’s fate if he is no longer needed to bear this light in battle?”

“You remind me so much of your mother, child. You see to the heart. Yes, I do not claim to meddle in the affairs of the Holy Ones. The slain lords of Mélamar were right in one respect; those of us born and bred in Middle-earth are still far from natural citizens of this hallowed place. There are great secrets here that the newly-arrived have not earned.

“What we do not understand, deep down, is the passage of time here. Nag Kath …” he allowed himself a rare chuckle, “Try as we may to be grave and aloof, I view tedium much like you. Father was greatly honored but he has sailed his ship across the sky for six thousand years. I should think he is ready for something new. It may seem only hours to him and other servants of heaven. My mother is said to join him as he passes by, taking the form of a swan to fly. I have not found her fabled tower either.” 

Elrond became graver, “The Sons of Feänor slew most of my family … and raised both me and my brother. Others survived. Father’s parents may also be here, tucked away in high honor, hidden to the eyes of conflict-Elves. That may be by choice. If this ending of Melkor also ends the need for ageless defenses, I should like to see my parents again. My grandparents too, since they were said to journey here. Tuor was a man as well so his fate is a mystery to me.”

The changeling had no trouble repaying the great kindness Elrond had shown him – had shown the great Bilbo over many years of the halfling’s storied life. “You know I am called to present myself in the city of the Valar. Gandalf was sure that would be needed. I do not see this as a tribunal like the many I have survived. If the Holy Ones were greatly concerned, I would either be there or dead. Do you hope that my summons allows me to pursue my Lady Wife’s ancestors?”

“I do.”

“Consider it done, best of sirs.”


	15. The City of Bells

**_Chapter 15_ **

**_The City of Bells_ **

****

The Kaths left the next day across the Plain of Valinor to Valmar, the City of Bells. Finarfin’s Tirion was the gateway to Valinor. It guarded the only easy gap along the treacherous spine of mountains running the entire length of the crescent continent. Like everywhere else here, there as an excellent road directly to Valmar. The King of the Valar, Manwë and his Queen Varda were said to live just across the mountain chain on the high peak of Taniquetil. Nag Kath still thought it looked bloody cold. 

They did not all live together; these Holy Valar. Ulmo, who had spared him more than once, reigned the seas. Oromë was said to hunt his vast forests as far down the mountains on the west side as Thranduil was on the eastern slopes. Many lived within a few hundred miles of Valmar along with half of the Vanyar Elves, most beloved of the Valar. A sizeable contingent stayed with their King Ingwë on Taniquetil. The Halls of Mandos were on the far coast.

Making their way west, vast tracts of land looked like they could grow any seed that fell from your pocket supporting farmers, villages, towns and even cities of white splendor. Folk took them in and gave them food and rest. Few had heard details of the battle on the quarrelsome coast. That part of Aman was not considered Valinor, much like Gondor thought of the Easterlings. 

From Tirion to Valmar took eighteen leisurely days, usually in the company of travelers on this the only road. Approaching in the late afternoon, gleams of silver and gold reflected off the spires and towers. Inariel was enchanted, the perfect kingdom for a fairy princess. Nag Kath saw it as beauty and art but also as a building project. He considered the defenses and, as always, why people would put so many stairs where they weren’t needed. When he asked in Tirion, folk looked at him as if he was quite daft. In Valmar there were no inns or signs or anything to suggest commerce of any kind.

They arrived at a spacious home with a handman and maid. Food with no meat was brought. Their suite was too beautiful not to enjoy one of their favorite pastimes, even if done quietly so as not to disturb. The Lady was pleased her Lord’s grin was returning. 

The next morning, December first, Orórin, broke his fast with them. This was his home, which was rather grander than anyone in Middle-earth suspected. He was a Maia, one of the most senior left since only a few had been created and many were lost in uncounted wars. Today he wore robes of silver with blue trim. As he put honey on his bread, Orórin asked, “Nag Kath, what do you know of the Maia you killed?”

“Maia? I thought Morgoth was one of the Valar.”

“No, dear boy, the servant Selvas.”

Nag Kath blinked and answered, “Not much. That could have been the name of the poor Elf he enslaved before Talifür. Not strong, as your sort goes.”

“No, not strong. The dark ones kept that side quiet. I don’t suppose he mentioned any others?”

“Must have slipped his mind.”

Orórin said cursorily, “You will need your Quenya. Sindarin is for Sindars and we left them on the coast.” The retired wizard began to rise and remembered, “Oh, Inariel, it is better you don’t mention the book you gave your grand-da. That stays between us.”

She was recovered from her worry and asked cheerfully, “The failed language?”

He chortled, “The Nuralth! The Holy Ones don’t want their secrets divulged. Let us hope Elrond never translates it.”

The Maia showed them through his district of the city near the Golden eastern gates. They were right that Inariel was a child. A passionate and wise woman of Middle-earth, she was wide-eyed in wonder at the splendor of colors and scents. Even her practical husband was in awe but still wondered how they kept it so clean. A Princess expects that.

Flushed with her tour, Inariel asked Orórin, “What is next?”

“Next we wait. Your husband is known to be here and now we see if the Holy Ones want him to answer for his war.” He turned to Nag Kath, “Do not use any of your powers here, even for so much as peeling an apple. You are the humblest changeling ever to walk the gardens of the High. Amuse yourselves in the city. You will be easy to find if wanted.”

With that, Gandalf repaired to his room and lay down. Unlike his wizard sleep in Middle-earth, a faint spirit rose above him as if looking down on the peaceful body. The true essence of the Maia was unencumbered. After months in the field, he was restored a few days after he arrived.

Nag Kath never had a handman. He chose his own trousers and put them on. There seemed to be no way to spend any of the money he brought. With the rest of the afternoon at ease, the young couple strolled the wide streets gazing at the ancient architecture. It was all older than old but looked like it was made only centuries ago. Bells rang often but not for the time. They sat and watched the elegant, mostly blonde, people taking their ease by countless fountains and nooks with meeting benches. Many also sang or told rhymes together. These were not the Elves who fought, except for returning to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath that imprisoned Morgoth the last time. They would not have to do that again. 

The Kaths kept to the south of the city circle where there was more green and water. Future excursions would include the more elaborate northern quadrants. There were also vast gardens outside of the city, but the Kaths would wait for permission first. He was here in questionable odor. Of course, it might be years before the Valar worried about such as Orc Six. 

After several more days, they had toured much of the southern city. There were guards, of a sort, on the parapets, but none minded the tall Quendu loping up the steps for a look at the surrounds. Again; he saw no modern siege defenses. Timalen once drew him a picture of the big Mûmikils storming the Pelennor. Another sketch showed the Uruk trolls and great beasts hauling engines of destruction, hurling pieces of the Rammas Wall as large as market stalls. It was a while before Nag Kath realized these walls were mostly for show. Some of the residents here need only snap their fingers to destroy hosts of rabble storming the gates. It was all a matter of the force one could bring to bear. 

Now; what did he bring to bear? He could draw poisons and spells. He could throw fire, finally, and summon modest breezes. He could confuse and clear. He had ‘the fast’. It was a mishmash of adaptive skills but never honed for a great purpose, fair or foul. Nag Kath was more like a traveling peddler who scrounged what he thought he could sell. Most curious was the gift of color from the Wild Huntsman. It returned him from death; not an everyday healer talent. Orlo found it deep within him while he was frozen from hundreds of leagues away. 

Then there were all the powers he had ‘borrowed’ like; ósanwe far-speaking or knocking loose rocks down on mithril devil-harps. Nag Kath had never written them down. They changed too often. If asked, he would say what he could.

Orórin joined them after a day's rest. He moved more quickly. Inariel wondered if he would be more comfortable disembodied but was too polite to ask. Her lady’s maid was not sure what to do with the pretty Quenda, especially since Inariel had not traveled with much clothing. New garments of the city were found very quickly and cut as if every stitch was done with her in it. They draped rather more closely than the lordly garb of eastern Elvish capitals. Nag Kath thought her fetching and took them off.

Their host showed them the northern city arc which included meeting friends both firstborn and a few Maiar. They caught a glimpse of Nessa, Vala of speed. Nag Kath would dearly like to talk to her about that. She sensed him and stopped with a curious gaze before disappearing. 

Gandalf introduced them to the Maia Fonë; occasionally servant to the more powerful Maia Orestë who helped the great Vala smith Aulë. By now the Kaths were accustomed to seeing grand lords of power and grace. Fonë did not fit the mold. He was misshapen and no taller than a Dwarf. The Maia had been burned several times, not to cripple, but scars on his hands and face had not healed smoothly. One expected that of a smith’s helper in Middle-earth. Here, they thought those marks would vanish. No, Fonë bore them with more than a bit of good humor. 

Fonë was a gossip. He knew everything about everyone after ten thousand years of listening. There were things he would never tell and some he would only tell those with tighter lips than his, but he could carry-on like a fifth-level doyen with a dozen grandchildren.

The gnome-like Maia invited them into his modest home for tea. He and Gandalf spoke while the young couple sipped and smiled to suggest they were paying attention. Never less than the perfect host, Fonë asked Nag Kath, “However did you meet this old spirit?”

“I was his student when I was very young in Isengard, sir.”

“Never been there. I understand it is a terrible place.”

The changeling smiled vaguely, “That was the consensus when I was a lad.”

Turning to the Quenda, “And you, fair Lady. What misfortune brought him to your door?”

Inariel answered, “He came to visit my great grandmother in Eldamar.”

“And who would that be?”

“The Lady Galadriel, sir.”

“Finally, someone genuinely new!” Fonë was charming, “Haven’t met her either, but I have never left Valinor. I suppose that is limiting but, as you can see, I am not built for travel.” He smiled broadly with very good teeth and sipped more tea.

Inariel continued, “My grandfather is Lord Elrond, on my mother’s side.”

The diminutive Maia slapped his knee and cried, “Now that is curious! You must be of the Half-Elven line. My master and his master crafted great things for Thingol in his time. Pity they are all lost.”

She said deferentially, “Yes, I came into the world much later, sir.”

The rest of the visit devolved into talk of old deeds. It seemed the Highest only called on Fonë occasionally. He lived well among many friends and would do so until the end of days – now seemingly further away. Fonë asked cautiously, “Orórin, when are you to see the Valar about this, this, uhm, upset in the Mélamar?”

Nag Kath looked at Gandalf and wondered the same. The wizard saw the look and groused, “As your advocate, I haven’t the foggiest. No one consults my calendar.”

______________------_____________

After another two weeks of seeing every fountain in Valmar, Inariel and Nag Kath were ready to feel the wind in their faces. While they were planning their day, a messenger the wizard knew from the Circle of Doom in Máhanaxar came to the door. 

“Good morning, Orórin.”

“Hello Betanzaes. Please come in. I hope you are well.”

“I am, thank you. I came to tell you that the Full Council will hear from your guest on March fourteenth at the rising sun. You are welcome to attend but may not be called at the same time.”

The wizard was gracious, “Thank you, my friend.” Inariel turned the corner on her way to the kitchen and was introduced as wife to the respondent. Gandalf added, “May she come in support of her husband?”

“Of course, thought she may or may not be called to bear witness.” Betanzaes gave the slightest head tilt as if to say that the highest beings would do exactly what they wanted. 

Orórin knew that as well as any and showed the messenger out for a few words on the porch.

______________------_____________

Almost three months! That would let Inariel follow a fantasy she had imagined since she was a little girl, and a trip would help relieve the tension of waiting.

As soon as they could understand, Arwen taught all of her children about their family. It was a convoluted road of life, love and loss stretching across every bloodline of Elfkind and then some. In her mortal life, it was lore to be told Inariel's children for remembrance. Here; it mattered.

Inariel was a direct heir of the Ñoldorin through Finarfin. She was well back in the immortal succession but she was the only child of her generation. Finarfin’s mother was Indis, niece of High King Ingwë of the Vanyar Elves. Ingwë stayed with his small family on Mount Taniquetil with Lord Manwë, King of the Valar, and Lady Varda along with many of his subjects. Even more of them lived in this fair city. That made Inara not far off the succession there too. The third direct lineage was that through Celeborn, she was nobility of the Sindar Elves. Fourth, through Queen Eärwen, she was also in the direct succession of King Olwë.

It was a fifth, nearly extinct line that fascinated her. Lord Elrond's heritage was as august as anyone's. He and his mortal brother were sons of the great Man-turned-Elf Eärendil, hero and bearer of the beloved star and his wife Elwing. Elrond could not explain that bloodline in much detail but Inariel knew the family tree by heart because the path led to Lúthien and Beren of her favorite story. 

Luthiën’s parents were the Maia Melian and her great love the Elven-King Elu Thingol of Doriath. Aragorn had her blood as well. Melian was a powerful sorceress, servant of the Valier (female Vala) Estë and Vána. For thousands of years, her magic girded the realm against Morgoth, his servants and dark Dwarves, but it could not save her daughter Lúthien. When the King was slain, largely through his own arrogance, Melian returned to Valinor as Doriath was beset by enemies. Again, the lust for the Silmaril jewels poisoned the blood of the firstborn. It was said the Lady now visits the Halls of Mandos in sorrow for her lost husband and those killed in the fall of their realm. 

Gandalf knew her well before he was a wizard and reported she sometimes stayed at her former home in the Gardens of Lórien, realm of the Vala Irmo (Lórien) and his wife, the Valier Estë. The Gardens were four hundred miles southwest on a good road. When she felt the time was right, Inariel asked her husband, “My dear, I would very much like to visit my granna Melian.”

Nag Kath generally paid very little attention to ancient Elvish history but he answered without hesitation, “That would be splendid. Where is she?”

“My best chance is to visit the great gardens of Irmo and Estë. Orórin said she may not be there, but I would like to take the chance.”

He considered gently, “Should I be there for this?”

“Of course, silly. You are my protector. Many Elves and even the Valar go to the exquisite gardens to refresh and heal. We shall join them. Orórin said she may be in the Halls of Mandos, but if we are to live forever, we should see what is said to be the most beautiful place in the world.”

Her husband held her close. He was not sure how long forever would be in his case, but was dutiful, “Then we shall go. The Lady Estë is the greatest of all healers. Perhaps I can make myself useful.”

The couple conferred with Gandalf who served Irmo and his sister Nienna for long years. The wizard planted a thought in Inariel’s mind to share with them when they arrived. Orórin was also servant to Manwë and Varda, King and Queen of heaven, so he cautioned the Kaths to return here in good time. Kissing the fair Princess’ brow, he sent them south.


	16. Waters of the Garden

**_Chapter 16_ **

**_Waters of the Garden_ **

Visiting the gardens was popular year-round. Elves numbering one to forty made pilgrimages, in many ways like Nag Kath’s retreats of post-Sauronic lands. Most folk were on foot so the mounted couple passed them during the day but shared inns or camps in the evenings. They also shared stories since many pilgrims had been there before or were on their way home. The Kaths told a few of their less magical or royal tales too. His name was infamous in Eldamar but not widely known on this side of the Pelóri Mountains.

On their third night they camped with a Quendu who fought for Felaour, ally to Elrond. The ohtar was deeply troubled by what he had done and hoped to repair his dreams. Toulour and Nag Kath spent much of the night talking quietly. Knowing why he had to fight might help the soldier take his rest.

At a good pace with good horses they made it almost to the entrance of the massive gardens in just over two weeks. That night they stayed with a company of fifteen pilgrims on their way in, led by Anthreil. The seasoned journeyer looked askance at the sword poking out of Nag Kath’s bedroll but welcomed the courtly couple. They, in turn, did their chores and provided a few fish for the supper.

What the Kaths were to learn was that people came to this place to relieve stresses much like the ohtar burdened by the memory of killing defenseless soldiers. A hard-bitten man of Middle-earth could not imagine feeling sorry for the fair immortals of this safe land, but living indefinitely can stress the mind. For all Nag Kath’s joking about losing his wits making Lembas everyday, that was a definite affliction when life became so monotonous that spirit fades. If untended, the soul could become disoriented and even die when Elves no longer had the will to eat, like the farmer Selvas subsumed. That was rare, but it was also a reason pilgrims came to this place of restoration.

One such lady was Helica. She was on the household staff of a Vanyar official in Valmar. Her mistress was a kind soul, but doing the exact same thing with no beginning or end disordered Helica's thoughts. She came here fourteen hundred years ago and was relieved. Her mistress told her to take as much time as she needed to renew herself again. Traveling with her were her niece Jens and Jens' husband Gelandanó. They watched her aunt while praying for their own dreams of fertility after long waiting. Dreams were often how blessed children were anticipated.

_____________------_____________

Calling it a garden did not do the marvel justice. The home of the Lord and Lady was fully two hundred miles long by almost that wide. It had been created by many of the Valar with an almost unnatural perfection. There were streams and fountains and meadows with every kind of flower. Trees flowered too and the air was heavy with scent said to aid resting with sweet dreams. Some places were dense forest that opened onto small bowers for privacy and meditation.

Their company formed smaller groups around a campground Anthriel found on his last trip. Helica was organizing the family meal while Gelandanó and Jens spoke with friends close by. Helica prayed she had enough time to refresh but did not disclose the full extent of her distress. When her niece returned to the site, the Quenda was laying against a log unresponsive to the touch. 

Jens cried, “Anthriel, Anthriel! Please come quickly. My aunt is failing.” Anthriel had taken the largest of the sites where the company would gather later. He dashed over to attend the Quenda along with a number of their group. The Kaths ran over too as Anthriel looked in Jen’s eyes to ask, “How long has she been like this?”

Jens rang her hands, “Not long, but this has happened before. Please, sir, can you help her?!”

The Elf shook his head and said, “This is serious.”

Nag Kath asked, “Sir, what ails this lady?”

Anthriel was a kindly soul, but of no mood to educate greenbottoms. He said tersely, “The Atalantëa, a confusion of the mind. She is far gone now.”

One prayer Helica had not considered was Kath of the Arse Arrow cooking a fat trout in his Trum Dreng frying pan not eighty feet away. He knelt beside the stricken woman putting one hand along her face and holding her wrist with the other. Applying his clarity spell, both hands began to glow bright silver, plainly visible in the fading light. The color crept up his bare arms and brightened until it seemed to seep into the patient. Unbidden, a trace of life-spirit transferred as well.

The flash backed everyone up several paces which gave Inariel room to kneel for the woman’s pulses and timing her breath. Both of the Kaths rose and the brunette child told the group, “She should wake tomorrow morning.” Turning to the shocked niece, “A strong tea of yarris and silver elm bark will help.” With that the healers went back to their site and put the frying pan back on the fire. 

Usually the company would gather to sing songs and recite poetry. Tonight they left the enchanted youngsters alone. In the morning, Helica was already up making porridge. She remembered nothing of the care and seemed fine so the two travelers rode further into the gardens after saying goodbye.

______________------_____________

Irmo, Master of Dreams and Desires was curious, “Did you find the source of the surge?”

“Easily, My Lord. A Quendu pilgrim administered a spell to a woman afflicted with Atalantaë. It was powerful and inefficient but effective. The lady was healed.”

“Healed, not merely calmed?”

“Healed, My Lord.”

“A spell? What became of the sorcerer?”

“He and a girl-child are on their way deeper into the garden on horse. I passed them there and back.”

It was uncommon for pilgrims to venture very far inside the garden realm, even more so mounted. Lord Irmo considered that for a moment, “Invite them here for the high meal.”

Nag Kath and Inariel took their time along the trail. There was so much to see in the marvelous place. No one in their party knew where Melian lived so they followed pulses of energy flowing northwest. Making an early camp near a small lake, Inariel unpacked while her husband took his fishing line to the shore. 

The Princess felt him before she heard him and turned to face the tallest Elf she had ever seen, easily seven feet high and very fair. He bowed and said, “I hope I did not alarm you, child.”

Inariel curtsied and replied, “A pleasant surprise, sir.”

Nag Kath heard them and returned to the camp saying, “Good afternoon sir. I can catch an extra trout if you would join us for dinner.”

Such curious accents! The Maia was in his Fana (appearance) of Elvish form so as not to shock. He said gently, “Thank you. I am Handril and have come to invite you to the Lord and Lady’s table tonight.”

There could be no refusal. Inariel replied, “That is most gracious and accepted gladly. I am Inariel and this is Nag Kath. If you will give us grace to gather our things, we will be ready shortly.”

While her husband was loading their modest packs, the Princess asked, their guide, “Sir, was it you who passed by us with such haste this morning?”

How on earth had the little Quenda seen that?! A mature Elf could not have, and she was certainly not that. He feigned distraction, “Sorry, young lady?”

“Yes, twice, I think. You moved with such grace.”

He could not lie, but he needed to discuss this with his master and mistress, “Perhaps it was one of the sprites. There are many here to tend these rich gardens.”

Nag Kath heard something but wasn’t looking that direction when Hanvil went to the campsite. Inariel saw him plainly on his way back. Let them have their secrets. She had hers. 

They followed Handril through a dense hedge that parted like wheat in the wind. It closed behind them as they walked on a pristine path, covering twelve leagues in only half a bell; not a trail for pilgrims. The forest opened onto a magnificent mansion of white and silver set in a riot of colored flowers surrounded by every possible shade of green. A groom only slightly shorter than their guide took the mounts and the three climbed a broad staircase into the entryway of a grand reception hall. Handril said, “Please excuse me for a moment” and bounded up another flight of stairs. It was not much longer than a moment when the creature returned and asked them to follow him back up. 

Somehow Nag Kath was expecting his hosts to be seated in thrones looking down from on high. What he got was an extraordinary couple standing at the far end of a windowed hall talking. He was fully eight-feet tall, with long, pale hair held with a circlet of silver, vines and leaves. His gown was blue-black with silver trim. Lord Irmo reminded Nag Kath of Thranduil; pretty, almost feminine, but with great presence and grace.

She was perhaps seven feet tall, crowned with golden hair reaching below her waist, clad in a shimmering gray dress with no adornments. Estë’s face was a vision, but capable of more emotion than the same face on an Elf, a bit like Goldberry.

The Valar turned to their guests and received deep bows before approaching. Irmo said in a gentle but resonant voice, “Thank you for coming after your long journey. I am Lórien and this is Lady Estë.”

“I am Nag Kath and this is Inariel Telcontar, My Lord and Lady.”

Estë said in a soft, flowing tone, “We felt your healing. You cared for someone in distress?”

Nag Kath answered, “I did, ma’am. It was probably not the best remedy, but one I know well.”

Lórien asked Inariel, “And you, child, have you come here to be made well?”

“No, My Lord. My husband and I came seeking an audience with the Lady Melian.”

If the Lord and Lady were not expecting that, one could never tell from their faces. They thought the girl looked a lot like Melian, but she was impossibly young to be married to the strapping lad. Inariel was about to offer the thought Orórin had placed in her mind when the Lord waved his hand towards a magnificent table, “Please, join us for nourishment.”

Despite being the destination for so many Elves, the Holy couple seldom entertained other than their own kind. Both were in their most familiar Fana, the physical aspect to put guests at ease. In this form they could eat and enjoy. The greater spirits took their places at the head and gestured for the youngsters to sit close by. For an instant Inariel felt like a child at the adult table but within moments her chair seemed raised to a comfortable height. Servants brought wine. Irmo offered a toast to Eru Ilúvatar and all sipped.

Neither Kath was about to start a conversation so they waited until Estë asked of the changeling, “Tell me more of your healing, young Quendu. It seemed very strong.”

“It is a witch’s spell of Middle-earth to clarify sorcerous confusion, My Lady. It healed the symptoms. I cannot speak to the cause. The woman seemed well this morning.”

Estë considered that and asked, “Is your being here to do with the upset in the Eldamar?”

There would be no secrets held from the Holy. Nag Kath replied, “After a fashion, ma’am. I was called before your council and must return at the ides of March.”

All that would be tended in its own time. Irmo asked of Inariel, “You said you seek Melian. Is she expecting you?” He knew Melian wasn’t. She did not entertain at all, though she was here now coaxing colors from her flowering trees.

Inariel had never met gods before but she was used to the highest company in every life she had led. “The Lady is my great grandmother several times back. I have long dreamt of meeting her. Since we had leisure before attending the council in Máhanaxar, we hoped she might be here, My Lord.”

Nag Kath thought he caught the mosquito buzz of thoughts exchanged without speaking, not something everyday Elves can hear. The Valar returned to their guests and chose Inariel's baffling family as the evening topic. That was a heaven-sent opportunity for the Princess of Gondor to gush, “I am hoping to meet my great-grandfather Eärendil as well. Does he ever come here?”

The Vala of dreams replied, “I don’t recall seeing him.”

It was worth a try. Dinner was good but Nag Kath did not remember what he ate. Before they were excused, Inariel said, “Oh dear, I almost forgot. My Lord, Orórin is our friend. He gave me a thought for you.”

Irmo extracted it from her mind in the blink of an eye with no change of expression before bidding them goodnight.

______________------_____________

The Valar couple had several hours in the morning and several at twilight before their respective labors. Irmo was master of night, bringing dreams and imaginings to the minds of sleeping or resting folk. His Elf-like Fana was only for guests. Estë stayed mostly in her Elvish form and slept on an island in her special lake, taking hurts and weariness from the same people during the day. In the time they had she said in thought-speaking, “Something for both of us my dear.”

“Yes, I will visit them shortly. How were you affected by his healing?”

“I felt it. He took more than he released to me. She has the touch too. How can she be so fair and so young both? Let me ponder that. I will also tell Melian that her grand-daughter has come to call. Perhaps that will help. She is too long away from the energy of life.” Irmo kissed her. The Lord and Lady were very much in love. Other married Valar seldom saw each other. He wished her a pleasant night and left to tend his flock.

A servant showed the Kaths to their suite. It was magnificent too. Nag Kath had never drawn anything so perfectly proportioned. Their meager belongings were already unpacked with Nag Kath’s sword placed on a rack of honor in a sitting room. Tea was steaming on a low table and they both had a cup. In addition to resting chairs there was a full-sized bed. After two weeks among pilgrims, they both gazed longingly but thought to wait until they knew the Valars’ purpose.

Hanvil arrived after they dressed to give them a tour of the palace and grounds. It took several hours along astonishing paths that sometimes even confused the trail-savvy changeling. They understood the tour to define their boundaries while here, for however long that might be. The tall Elf took them back to their quarters and said they could take their ease until the Lord and Lady wanted them.

That turned-out to be some time. For a week they explored within their confines and marveled at the flowers and fountains. Smaller lakes had an assortment of witless trout but he did not take them. He did allow himself liberty to climb a small hill inside their allowed area. It gave some perspective of the palace including a smaller mansion a few miles off. In Middle-earth it would be the grandest of mother-in-law’s quarters. Here it could be anyone exiled against time. In a different direction he saw a small blue lake with an island near the center. 

______________------_____________

Time went by quickly. When it seemed lunchtime it was almost dinner which was served in their rooms by a smiling but silent servant. One night, they were visited by great dreams. As a rule, Nag Kath had mannish images; fragments of fantasy barely moored in time or experience. Inariel’s were closer to Elvish which could be shaped but held human thoughts woven through the skein. Both woke fresh without remembering and looked forward to revisiting a garden that was home to many of the floating spirits of Lorién. A very small sprite stayed close to the Princess, floating near her as if enjoying physical presence. They could both sense the invisible folk, lowest of the spirit chain that culminated in the Valar themselves. 

“Good morning my dear.”

“Good morning, husband. How was your evening?”

“Queer, my love. I attended our guests. The changeling’s dreams are thin and unformed. The night offers him no clarity. He does not seem to need it. She, on the other hand, has the dreams of a man-child. I watched her as a girl with her sister trying-on apparel for a celebration. I think it is time to ask her about that. What news of Lady Melian?”

“I let her know, husband. It is up to her now.”

He thought it unlikely the Maia of Sorrows would respond but held hope. Irmo did say, “Hanvil showed them some of the garden. The male remembered both the true and magical trails." After a pause, “Orórin spoke well of our guests. He is deep in this business with Melkor.”

“Good. The Kath will need counsel.” In a far-away voice she added, “So might our Lord.”

The youngsters were to attend their hosts for dinner again. It had been two weeks since the first yet seemed only a few days. They followed the successful pattern of answering rather than asking. One of those answers was explaining how Nag Kath infused the Princess with his life essence to overcome the blood disorder. That was power considerably above healing. Irmo saw in his mind other powers; some kindly, some terrible. Still more were untested. And the young Quenda was a changeling too, albeit from more wholesome stock. 

That night the guests' dreams were strong again. Both were taken from their waking rest and looked at each other in the moonlight. It reminded them of another moonlit night not so long ago. If Irmo was the master of desire, he would understand. 

Nestled like spoons, Inariel murmured, "Perhaps we will be created spirits of intimacy." 

"Mmmmmm."

"Mother wouldn't care for that."

Nag Kath rose on his elbow, "Now there's a thought." Leave it to his passionate She-Elf to mention it. In Aman, from the fireflies to the Valar, joining was always in service of new life. There could be great joy in it, but they were probably the only two creatures on the continent who loved recreationally. Irmo was fascinated. As lord of desires, he had seen this in all of his sentient races. Some needed more encouragement than others. The Great Vala smiled. Dreams the world-round were interesting that night with many new children born a nine-month. 

More time passed. Nag Kath found a stick in the forest and whittled it into a beater for slow-swords. He wondered about the martial appearance, but this was for deep rest. Inariel and her spirits watched. She spoke to them and began to understand them. Many spirits were messengers of thought for the pilgrims, taking and returning dreams to their waking rest. After the second day of swords, they received an invitation to visit the Lady Melian two days hence. Nag Kath took it upon himself to sketch gifts from memory. 

As the couple prepared, Inariel became quiet and asked, “Did I do the right thing Nag? She is alone and bears the weight of so many sorrows.”

Her insensitive orc husband replied, “Seven thousand years? Time to get over it.”

Inara would have liked a little support herself for her courage. Pleading eyes lit the weak candle of recognition in his mind. Her handsome Elf kissed her gently and said, “This might be a form of healing too, my love. It hurts on both sides. Perhaps this helps her become whole again.”

It was the right comeback and the two were escorted to the guest mansion through a section of the palace they hadn’t seen before. It was no more than a quarter-bell walk. The doors were opened by an attendant and the couple was shown to what had to be the most uncomfortable couch ever built, the sort of furniture made for rooms people never sat in. They waited quite some time before a tall, gloomy Quenda collected them to walk up three flights of stairs. The lady, who reminded the Kaths of Miss Told without the occasional smile, knocked on a stout door before opening it and showing the guests inside. 

Melian was sitting at an embroidery stand. She looked up and rose, accepting her guests’ bows. As she came closer, she froze a moment looking at Inariel’s face. It was much like her own. If the former Queen of Doriath wasn’t taller than Nag Kath the two women could be sisters. The Lady adopted a reliable smile, “How nice to meet you, great grand-daughter.”

“It is my pleasure, Your Highness.” Melian was both a queen of Elves and a ranking Maiar of the immortals, nobility in either camp. She showed them to a much more comfortable couch and took the chair nearest Inariel. The Lady of Sorrows had only imagined her heirs, having left Middle-earth before Elrond was born. 

Tea was served. Melian said graciously, “You are staying with the Lord and Lady. I am grateful they told me you were here. Tell me child, you are daughter to Elrond?”

“No ma’am, grand-daughter. My mother was Arwen Undómiel.”

“Yes, that is right. You have two uncles.”

“I do, My Lady. I just met them two years ago.”

Melian looked at the quiet husband and said with authority, “And you are the warrior of Middle-earth, are you not?”

Nag Kath admitted, “At need, ma’am, and recently too.”

“What is your part in this?”

“I married Inariel after healing her from a malady of mixed Elvish and mannish blood,” Melian's direct legacy.

Her face softened to say, “And now you are here. Will you stay long, child?”

Her grandchild replied, “Not much longer, My Lady. Nag Kath must answer to Máhanaxar in a month’s time, though we hope to return and see more of this place.” There was a great deal unspoken in that wish.

They chatted for perhaps ten minutes about this and that. Then the Lady’s face changed again to a mask of graciousness, the sort of expression practiced by women who do not want their thoughts known. The Maia said softly but finally, “Then I hope we will see each other again.”

She started to rise, which should have been the signal for better-bred company to take their leave. It was not effective with Orc Six who plodded-on, “Before we go, I hoped to give you a gift of my own hands.”

Melian sat down and smoothed an imperceptible crease from her gown. Nag Kath opened a small tube, unrolling the sheets as he said, “This sketch is your great, great grandson Lord Elrond as I drew him last year.” Sliding it under the stack he added, “This is of my own Inariel. Now these two likely lads are Inariel’s uncles Elrohir and Elladan.”

Melian watched with mild interest until the changeling got to the final drawing, “These are King Elessar and Inariel’s mother Queen Arwen.”

He let the last sentence hang in the air as Melian’s concentration was compelled to the page. Arwen was said to be Melian's daughter Lúthien reborn, the most beautiful women of any age, then or since, the perfect blending of Melian and her beloved King Thingol. The face was inspiration since the dawn of Nag Kath's awakening, and no one had ever captured her better. The Kaths could tell a tear was waiting behind those blue eyes. The child before the Maia Queen today was very much of her blood, now relegated to legend even while her generations lived just on the other side of the mountains. Nag Kath handed her the sheets and the Kaths stood. Displayed emotion lasted only that long. Melian composed her face then rose to thank them for coming.

On the way back to their quarters Inariel was uneasily silent. The meeting had gone as she expected but not as she had hoped. Perhaps they would meet again. Nag Kath held her closely in the bed, like he had when she transferred her father’s essence to baby Inara. 

______________------_____________

Nag Kath thought it was time to stretch their bounds and investigate the little lake he saw from the knoll before they had to go. He hadn’t improved his healing and that idyllic place was drawing him. Usually he wouldn’t take Inariel on one of his dubious adventures but she was restless and asked to come.

They walked up a thin but well-trodden path for half a bell. The youngsters stood and watched for a while before taking off their shoes and hose to dip their feet in the cool water. It was not the refreshment they expected. Nag Kath could feel great pulses of energy surging towards the island with lesser humors returning along the same paths. There were thousands of them; driving then ebbing like the blood-pulse. Inariel felt them too and said almost inaudibly, “Nag, this was the vision of granna’s mirror.” 

He felt incoming waves flow through him and back out towards the island, slightly diminished in the transfer. Curious. Was this the water that healers sent here from the sick and injured? Was inefficiency over the long, dry stretches why it took so much from them? Most importantly; did proximity to the Lady of Healing matter? He wondered if the draw of Valinor was being closer to these streams of power that converted Elvish pain and woe into eternal life. His direct connection to this lake might be why Kath of the Water never felt he had to leave Middle-earth. 

Inariel gently took his hand. Both of them slowly glowed pale silver, further reducing the pulses of hurt sent further into the lake. Holding that condition for several minutes, eyes closed, they did not notice Lady Estë had woken from her rest just out of view and peered over her bower at the youngsters. She had the slightest sleepy smile before laying her head back on her arm.


	17. Lesser Tests

**_Chapter 17_ **

**_Lesser Tests_ **

Inariel was an experienced healer, though she had never shown induction. This time she felt it pass through her husband. His silver energized her, fulfilled her. She smiled hoping the brave Vala Lady’s burdens were lessened. They stepped back on shore and watched her vision of the mirror before putting their shoes on and walking back hand-in-hand.

That evening when their meal was usually brought, Hanvil came to ask them to join the Lord and Lady. They hadn’t seen him since they arrived. The young couple might have been frightened after this afternoon’s adventure but Nag Kath reasoned if he hadn’t been killed for incinerating Lord Manwë’s brother, stealing a little pain wouldn’t tip the scale.

Irmo and Estë were already seated. The Kaths bowed and took their usual places. The Lady of Healing and Hurts asked gently, “You felt the waters?”

Inariel answered, “We did, My Lady. I am sorry we could not reduce your toil.”

Estë laughed. They did not know Valar laughed. Then the graceful spirit smiled and said, “Oh, my dear; that is why I am here. I sleep soundly and wake refreshed. I still thank you for your care.” 

Irmo wove that into a thread about this curious couple, "Young lady, was it healing that brought you from Middle-earth to these shores?"

The Princess considered that carefully. She was unsure of the question but gave it her best, "My own sir. I was ill near to death as a woman. My husband saved me by giving me Elvish essence, but we think the call of the Undying Lands then overwhelmed me, as if my transformation was brought to a head. Nag Kath's gift of color helped greatly and I have kept growing stronger since we arrived, finally able to rest."

The Lord continued in the same voice, "Color?"

The changeling took that question, "Yes, Lord Irmo. The Wild Huntsman granted me the ability to see races and darkness through healing waters. I cannot claim to fully understand it, but it has saved many I love ... me too." 

The Lady of Healing knew her Lord's mind and asked of the male, "And did you come for the same reason as your bride, Nag Kath?"

"Oh no, ma'am. I have never felt drawn to this place, fair though it is. I wondered that it might be because so many generations of dark servants interrupted the call. Inariel needed to come and I came because she is my wife."

The Lord of Dreams and Desires smiled, "Then we are the better for it. Inariel, you have made new friends in our garden."

“Indeed I have, My Lord. I read and rest and play with the spirits who follow me among the plants and waters. They are each unique, though very shy, Lietul especially.”

The child could feel them, communicate with them! She saw Handril too. Irmo agreed, “Yes, each its own. Not everyone can sense them." Time was growing short, "I asked you both here because we are called to Valmar, something to do with your exploits, Nag Kath.”

Both Inariel and Nag Kath knew that despite what seemed a cordial relationship, it could not compete with the need to rebalance Eä (the universe) after losing Melkor. It might be nothing. In the months since the battle, the sun came up. It rained and was fair in turn. Irmo wanted to keep these two close; both so he knew they would be at the council and for further study. “I grant you permission to leave when you like or you can travel with us when we go.” The Vala remembered their situation and added, “In that case, your horses must stay.”

The adventurous young couple knew their horses would live as well here as anywhere else and readily agreed to wait. The rest of the meal was spent talking about healers of Middle-earth and Tom Bombadil’s home of dreams. 

Back in their quarters, they wondered if they would go back to Valmar with the Eagles of Bilbo and Frodo’s tales. Might they be carried aloft to the stars and be set on far soil? While Nag Kath speculated, Inariel wondered if she really wanted to fly on the back of a large bird. For the next three weeks they did what they had for the last month. Since the Valar had not asked them to return to the lake, they didn’t. There was no word from Melian either. That bothered Inariel. She missed her family. Melian was family.

Handril found them in their favorite garden picking strawberries and talking to spirits. Quieter than an Elf, he cleared his throat and they both looked up before he announced, “The Lord and Lady are ready.”

The Kaths followed him back to the house where their meager bags were packed. Bedrolls, extra clothes and travel gear would stay. Nag Kath had his sword and got special dispensation for his lucky frying pan. Handril walked them to a hallway where the Lord and Lady were waiting. Estë, a head taller than Inariel, put her arm around her shoulder as they walked further along. The Lady told her young charge, “Fear not child. I am with you.”

As she said that, Irmo opened a door and walked into a windowless room lit by tiny lamps - almost like stars. The ladies were close behind, leaving Nag Kath to bring up the rear carrying the bags and shutting the door. Irmo opened a door on the other side of the room while the Elf followed a few moments later into a small hall with tall windows along one side. 

When Nag Kath reached them, Inariel’s eyes were as big as Florin. Her husband set the bags down saying, “My dear, you look unwell.”

Estë said gently, “She will be fit shortly.” To her she added, “You are safe and sound my dear.”

The Princess exhaled like she had been holding her breath and turned to Nag Kath, “I am fine. I … yes, fine.”

Estë just smiled at her. Inariel collected her wits and said to Nag Kath in a loud whisper, “How can you be so calm?”

He looked at her in puzzlement but had not answered when Lord Irmo instructed, “You should go to your home now. Expect to be called at the pleasure of the council.”

Both Kaths walked to the closest window and saw they were in Valmar. A servant they did not recognize showed them to an exterior door leading to a northern street of the city. The changeling held his lady’s hand down the stairs against her being unsteady. At the bottom of the steps they saw they had arrived at the Dome of Varda. Inariel turned to him and babbled, “We passed through time and light and space in a blur. How are you not … I mean … oh, never mind.”

Until he looked out the window, Nag Kath thought he was still in the Gardens of Lórien. He hadn’t felt a thing. That explained how Gandalf could get down the stairs of Orthanc with no one noticing. On the twenty minute walk to Gandalf’s she looked like she was about to blurt something but did not make a peep. Now that he assessed the trip, he thought of telling Inariel; ‘that was the fast’ but held his tongue as well.

Maid Tilidelia let them in, looking behind them for the horses before shutting the door. She reported that the master was out but should be back by dinner time. They thanked her and went to their room. Inariel sat on the bed, knees together, staring at the opposite wall. He thought the transport must have horrified her. His lovely Quenda had some healing powers and the blood of the greatest firstborn in her veins, but she was a very conventional girl. He sometimes forgot just how unusual he was, mostly because he had tried so hard to be of the people he loved.

She started to cry. He asked her what he could do but she just shook her head and wrung her hands. There was nothing else he could say and he couldn’t leave her like this so he sat in his resting chair and waited. Like on the walk over, she looked at him as if to say something several times but shook her head again and sobbed. 

When he least expected it, the dam burst, “Must I lose you, my love? Must you go where I cannot?”

There was no answering that. He knew more must be coming. She struggled, “I have been so happy. You took my pain away and gave me hope. We traveled. You took me to see mother. You held me and loved me and made me … oh, oh …” That was as much as she could bear and she started sobbing again.

______________------_____________

Another of the unending realizations fell from the heavens with same crushing weight of those before. As usual, he had not seen it. Since they arrived, she had become an Elf, the illness and imbalance of her heritage finally repaired. He had become a wizard. She watched his powers swell, praying they would not drive a wedge between them. He saw the skills as both a distraction and a necessary evil against the greater evil, to be discarded when they finally, finally got far enough ahead of perils dogging their heels. Now the woman who loved him unreservedly feared the distance between them was growing, that or he would be reduced to the same gray ash as the unloved Morgoth. 

He sat next to her as she watched her lap. He was not a dark lord or a light one. He was Kath of many things. When Inariel’s crying became sniffles, he said quietly, “The day of your parents’ drawing, I was on trial for my life. Mr. Elendrie joined them since I looked more Elf than orc. He asked me what I wanted. I only know from reading Mr. Tallazh’s notes. I knew I liked living and marveled at that which surrounded me. Until then, I only wanted enough sawdust bread to live and not be beaten by the bigger Uruks. I wanted the pain in my gaol to stop. Amiedes wrote I answered I would art and music … and if I lived longer than my six-year doom, I would sing my own songs.”

He paused to make sure she was listening. She looked up; one of the few women he ever met who was still beautiful when crying. Then he knelt at her feet, “I did art. I sang my songs. I married and loved. That is what I want. When I am called, I will say as much and see what the great ones decide. If I am called to greater service, I will embrace it. You must not worry, dear Inara.”

Gandalf’s arrival ended the conversation for the moment. He was told they were in their room and he attended his own business knowing he would see them when they were ready. Dinner was an hour later and they both came. The Kaths told the wizard of their adventures among spirits and Vala and their coming to Valmar quite rapidly. Long pauses went unfilled. Afterwards, they went to Gandalf’s small sitting room where he spent most of his time. The lack of cubbies suggested the old Maia needed a new project. He might tell you the Kath’s were his new project. 

Their host had only finished his first pipe when there was a knock on the door. Tilidelia answered and admitted Betanzaes from the Council of Máhanaxar. Nag Kath was to attend them at dawn. His lady wife and Orórin should come with him and might be called. That night her Elf held her chastely in bed. Neither spoke. Talking would take from the time they had to embrace and think of only good things. Neither slept or took rest. The dawn would be here too soon. 

Nag Kath inventoried his gifts. How many were deserved? By one counting; none. He should have died in training, twice on the Mering Stream with an arrow in his breast and when the trooper nearly plunged a spear through his heart. He survived the army of the dead and the destruction of the One Ring. Nag Kath tried to count all the times he should have breathed his last, but there were just too many. Once, at least, he did die. 

By a more charitable counting he had been given many of his gifts; some earned, others unexplained. He came by many the hard way. If he was allowed to live and was asked which of his gifts he would keep, he would answer that he liked being an Elf. He found deep joy in healing and beauty. He loved his wife and hoped to be with her.

That was it. They could have the rest. It seemed impossible, though. Even if he was stripped of magic, he still knew how. As Miss Quessan told him long ago, that alone would attract powers like cats to the cream. Nag Kath banished further meaningless speculation. He was holding his Inariel. That had to be enough. 

In the residence of Irmo and Estë was a last conversation about the pending council. Estë had not originally been a Valier. She was a strong Maia to other ladies of the court. That changed when the Elves started fighting each other. There was more pain and weariness than imagined by creator Eru Ilúvatar. War and destruction by Melkor and Sauron at their worst overwhelmed the Lady of Mercy. Twice the creator granted her greater ability to absorb the hurts and wear on people stretched to the brink. Stress decreased with the ending of the cursed rings, but she still labored long from the growing population of Middle-earth and, recently, the war in Eldamar.

Irmo spoke gently in his thoughts, “Are you sure, my dear?”

“Oh yes, husband, more every moment. They both survived the crossing, he holding iron. That was a risk.”

“This is a time of risk. We had to be sure. Let us tell the others, but the timing must be flawless. Much will depend on Lord Manwë’s view of the imbalance. I hope our friends will see this through.”

______________------_____________

Orórin was ready by the time the horizon started to glow. Nag Kath and Inariel joined him a few minutes later and they strode to the western gate. Elves went about their business. No one stared. This was a very private assembly. The sun was almost up when they presented themselves to the door wardens at the Circle of Doom.

While the respondents waited in the entry hall amid dozens of servants bustling to and fro, the Lords of Arda gathered in the main chamber. They seldom met, but far-speaking only worked well individually and this was an issue that required all ears. They also wanted to know the other’s unique wisdom since each Vala had such different roles. This was not a council in the manner of men or even Elves. Even the fair and understanding court of Telcontar was limited by time and resources. In this realm, those were vast. 

King Manwë would preside with his wife Varda as counselor. Their primary concern was the balance. In the creation of the Ainur, Eru Ilúvatar imagined a pantheon of beings to administer the world according to their special talents. Their paths often crossed, but core needs were separate responsibilities. Melkor was immediately hostile, disrupting the music of creation. He was given too much too soon, the ultimate spoiled child. Even with the great wars he caused and lack of any useful skill, he was a presence in the pressure of power – a counterweight for the awesome responsibilities the Holy Ones bore. With him gone, strength was spread thin, unguided. The other Valar, Maiar and spirits down the scale had not fundamentally changed in potency since the music, adapting to Melkor’s imprisonment and to the great loss of Maiar in conflict.

When the peoples of Middle-earth prayed and perished, they did not understand their shepherds did not fend off the wolves of Sauron for lack of care. The lack was depletion. The great ones were never imagined dying. Hosts of Maiar, some good, some evil, perished in battles forgotten by those walking the paths today. A few, like Gandalf, had been resurrected to complete tasks, but fell Umaiar floated in the void, unusable for virtuous duty.

Manwë stroked his long beard and gazed from his mountain. His full court had not been called for centuries – and then to discuss apportionment of needs among the remaining powers, Those Who are Named as they were known in the eastern east. Long had he struggled; first with understanding the nature of his brother’s betrayal and then with his punishment. No one of the council was sorry Melkor was dead. The problem was the reckoning. The gaps Manwë and his Valar had effectively covered were laid bare. Only Eru Ilúvatar could replace Ainur. Others could reshape them, yes, but not create them. Would the loss of Melkor force his divine hand?

Mandos prophesied Melkor would eventually escape to foment a terrible battle ending all things to start anew. But the battle that destroyed him was not as foreseen. The world remained as it was. Perhaps that was for the best. Manwë did not know. Suddenly, unimagined, an orc had taken powers and betrayed his creator by secreting him out of his confinement and slaying him. How was that possible? Was Melkor truly dead or was the Prophesy simply in abeyance? What was done was done, but there were more black souls floating in the Void. Melkor failed to release them. They should stay there.

The Elder King now considered his counselors. Some had opposed releasing Melkor the first time after so much damage. Then he did far worse. There were hard feelings about that decision. Ending the exile of the Ñoldorin fell largely along the same lines with those opposed also insisting on removing Aman from grasping mortals. To the matter at hand, there were gods of the council who knew more than others about this and related concerns. They had been strangely quiet on their purpose. Manwë would have them share their thoughts today. Irmo and Estë asked for a moment towards the end of the moot. Curious; that. The Master of Desires usually spoke to his peers quietly.

A vision of light approached him at the window on their tower in the clouds. Varda softly put her hand on his shoulder and thought to him, “My dear, the dawn approaches.” Neither of them fretted or doubted their course. It was righteous and therefore correct. There were unknowns though – rare among the Holy Ones. Those would be addressed as they always had been. 

With a wave of his hand, the greatest of the Valar were in the Hall of Doom. Manwë nodded to his chief Maia Eönwë to bring the respondent before them. Highest of the servants, general of the Wrath, the noble warrior stood immensely tall and proud, clad in bright armor and armed with steel. He walked forward to Orórin in the antechamber and bowed, receiving bows of the three in return. The herald announced, “Nag Kath, your presence is required. Orórin, please remain here. Your counsel may be asked shortly.” 

Nag Kath kissed the Princess on the forehead and followed the imposing warrior to the proceedings. As they disappeared behind the doors, a shorter version of the wizard, robed in blue, emerged from the shadows to join his fellow Istari and a stunned Quenda for an overdue reunion.

The meeting hall of the Valar was shaped like a huge barrel; round, and for those standing small on the floor, a long way to the top. There were skylights illuminating equally spaced chairs ringing three quarters of the room. Those were different sizes because of their unique Lords and Ladies. Some were massive. Some were normal. Quite a few of the occupants shone their own light as well but it was still hard to see faces. Aule did not have an earthly form, standing as a flaming apparition of reds and oranges. Gandalf gave the Kaths a quick lesson on who sat where.

Directly in front were Manwë and Varda, she a woman of surpassing beauty and grace. Eönwë showed the changeling to a small circle in the middle of the barrel where Nag Kath bowed deeply and stood in attendance. The herald announced, “My Lords and Ladies, before us stands Nag Kath, come to answer your questions. Please proceed, My Lord Manwë.”

As the Maia withdrew, the King of the Valar spoke in a voice that seemed all things at once. Powerful yet soothing, it resonated without the confusing echoes of a cave. “Nag Kath, you are here to answer for the slaying of the Ainu Melkor. Did you do so?”

“I did, My Lord.”

“Why?”

“He was long my enemy and threatened my friends, sir.” No one had explained addressing these beings so he used royal protocol.

The Elder King added, “It is further said that you spirited him from his detention to accomplish this.”

“That is also true, My Lord. I saw the opportunity to attack when he was weak and took it, as I would every time, lo, he was already leaking from pinholes in the night. I destroyed one of them in Middle-earth fifty-four years ago.”

If any of the great ones had been hoping for denial or requests for clemency, they would have to adjust their approach. Vairë, weaver of the fabric of the void, spoke sternly from the right, “By what authority did you slay a great Ainu, changeling?”

The Elf expected this, long before having decided he would be absolutely honest but not fawning. If they couldn’t keep their criminals in gaol, he wouldn't apologize for catching them. “Not authority, My Lady, responsibility. I was there for the farmers and their families, for the babies who never had a chance. The two thousand slain weigh on me far more than Morgoth.”

Morgoth, Black Foe, was an insulting Elvish slur. Tulkas despised Melkor and reveled hearing it. The Lord of Strength and War should be a powerful ally to the changeling general. He called in a booming, jovial voice, “Did you challenge him from his confinement for combat, Elfling?”

The Holy Ones got their first look at the infamous Nag Kath grin, “In a manner of speaking, Lord Tulkas. I tricked him by forcing his servant to call him forth saying the battle they incited was won. He had but to claim his prize. Then, with help, I bound him in flame and sent his ashes beyond the sky. He turned to Queen Varda, “For which I apologize, My Lady.”

The fairest of all creatures gave him a lilting smile and asked of a woman on her right, “I did not see him in my stars, dear Vána. Has Arien encountered upset in the day?”

Vána, Ever-young, nodded to her Queen and replied, “Yes My Lady. She said a fire-bolt passed through her winter-path before dissipating in the ether winds.”

Vairë had no great interest in what became of the changeling but was of those concerned with Manwë’s dilemma about the balance of humors. She continued, “Nag Kath, well-intentioned as you may be, it is still a grave matter to upset the order of things.”

The Elf considered that and offered, “Yes ma’am, though I am not sure I got the entirety of him. I have returned bits of Melkor to the Void before. This may have only been a larger piece to be easily replaced.”

Nag Kath seemed to catch them off guard. In what sounded like mosquitos buzzing; Manwë far-spoke a question of the Ruler of the Dead. Mandos was the husband of Vairë and keeper of the halls of souls. A lesser charge was confining evil powers. He was of the faction that did not want the Ñoldorin back. A man might be defensive since it was his gaol the dark lord tunneled through, but these beings were not that fragile. 

The Doomsman said in a voice almost too low to understand, “Nay, My Lord. Your brother is entirely destroyed. I went myself. Others confined there remain. They do not have the power or energy to constantly claw the walls of their confinement. A smaller breach has also been sealed.” 

Aulë the Smith was of two minds. He created the Dwarves. Nag Kath was a Dwarf-friend, apart from destroying one of their rings. But Sauron and Saruman were his Maia. The changeling possessed some unexplained essence of the corrupted servants. Aulë would not release them on an unsuspecting world, just as Arwen worried in Nag Kath's first trial. Stating the council's concerns for the future, the Lord of Craft demanded, “And now that he is no more, do you, with your dark powers, think to petition this august assembly for entry?” 

Nag Kath expected that after being accused of the same after the battle. It was impossibly rare, from the stable-boy to the gods, that one would destroy someone of power without intending to usurp them. In the absence of knowing the unique changeling, a scholar of his life could convincingly claim it was a ruthless exercise in the accumulation of power. He did his sums too. Each of these great ones, Those Who Are Named, would have rejoiced that Melkor was conveniently removed by an insignificant Uruk-hai Templagk. How could they conceive Nag Kath's ambitions were honorable?

Ulmo, the Sea King, built on Aulë’s thread. “Indeed, you summon all powers to yourself!”

If any one or a combination of them had been slipping Nag Kath powers under the table, they had ample opportunity to mention that privately. Perhaps it was better to finally smash the disposable orc’s face over the pod pit. All was idle supposition, and Nag Kath would be the first to tell you he was a poor dukks player. His final royal card still face-down was that two, possibly three Maiar would be lobbying for his survival. If Orlo returned here after helping slay good ole’ Morgoth, Oromë, at least, would have heard the tale. 

The changeling cleared his throat to say, “I only willingly took powers I needed.”

There is no quiet so deep as when gods are stunned to silence. After a few moments, Manwë asked calmly, “Why did you not gather greater strength? You could have easily.”

Nag Kath said softly and slowly, “For three reasons, best of sirs; one was that after the war, men would have feared the last dark servant learning fell sorceries. The second was that through much of my life, people were trying to kill me. The only powers I sought were healing and self-defense.”

He composed himself for the most important thing he ever had to say, “The last is that accumulating power for its own sake is necessarily evil. It drives away love until all that remains is cruel ambition. The giving of power soothes. I gave mine to heal. Radagast taught me to never accept power I did not need or could not accept responsibility for.”

A woman to the Elf's left had been silent throughout. She was Yavanna, mistress of living things, Radagast’s Vala. Nag Kath hoped by now she would have learned of his fate and their friendship. She asked in a voice that issued from throughout the room, “Young Quendu, what result do you seek?”

“Only to live with my wife in healing and peace, ma’am.”

Nienna, the Compassionate, needed more, “And nothing else?”

The next statement could cost him dearly. It was time to pay the piper. He faced the goddess Nienna but spoke to the host, “I would also ask that the great Elvish heroes now suspended in honor be released to their loved-ones. If needs be, I will take the place of Eärendil, that he may rejoin his beloved Elwing and son Elrond.”

Yavanna nodded to Manwë who spoke with gravity, “Nag Kath, you will wait outside while we discuss your future. Herald Eönwë, please take him to the entry and return with his wife Inariel.”

______________------_____________

The changeling had not considered that Inariel might be in jeopardy, but he had tempted the fates for a great many in his gamble. Why would she be any different? The Valar’s will be done and there was nothing for it. Nag Kath was returned to his Inara and the two wizards. He kissed her on the lips very tenderly and bowed to the herald as she was shown into the Circle of Doom. Nag Kath smiled at Orlo but then turned to watch his Lady disappear behind the doors.

Princess Inariel walked to the circle and bowed unafraid. She thought she saw the slightest smile from Estë. Vána, Lady of Youth and Beauty, had asked to speak to the youngest being ever brought before the council. “Do you have powers as well, child?”

She answered confidently, “I have healing ability inherited from both sides of my family, ma’am.”

Vána considered that and continued, “Tell us of your husband.”

The Princess answered softly, “I adored him in silence when I was a girl. Later, he healed me from a dread illness and I fell in love with him again.”

“So this union was of your own free-will?”

Inariel bloomed, “Oh yes. Together we have traveled wide with many adventures.”

Vána’s husband Oromë, who knew more than most here about goings-on in Fourth Age of Middle-earth, asked, “What are your husband’s greatest gifts?”

“They are many, My Lord. If I must choose; patience and optimism. He was born into slavery and endured unspeakable agony in his changing. He was attacked and shunned, driven from the places of Elves and men. Nag Kath has given of himself healing and against the enemy as our friend Orórin taught him, near to death many times.

“My Lords and Ladies, I was born of the highest station in my world. Folk like me thought him cursed. He would tell you he is the most fortunate creature on the face of Arda.”

Manwë said in the gentlest voice imaginable, “Thank you daughter. You may join your husband outside to await our decision. Herald, please return with Orórin”

______________------_____________

She bowed and was gone, leaving the Valar to consider their responsibilities. Melkor’s demise neatly avoided a wealth of prophesy suggesting a much more dire reckoning. No one would mourn him. There were only two important concerns; one was Manwë’s need to counterweight the loss of so powerful a force. The second was as the changeling had noted; the fate of creatures and events for the battle that would not come. Eärendil was still bound to the sky as the Evening Star in waiting to attack Morgoth. Would the cursed Silmarils finally be destroyed and return the Light of Trees? Melkor's foretold rage became an ignominious whimper, but it was an ending nonetheless.

Manwë turned to his Doomsman Mandos, Namó, Lord of Spirits and Judgment. “My friend, long ago you imagined the Dagorath, the ending of our current condition. Must that come to pass as foreseen?”

“Nay, My King. It seemed as if it would, but we have seen a great many things since that were not envisioned. One was that the Silmarils would be reclaimed to restore the universal light. I am not sure that is desired now.”

Sea Lord Ulmo agreed. Perhaps the Vala most sympathetic to men, he spoke, “A great many creatures of Middle-earth were created and have learned to live with days that are both light and dark. They rest and plant and grow. Constant brightness does not favor those who have inherited these lands.” There was general consensus around the hall that after ages of sun, moon and stars, perhaps that was the natural order. Plants knew to seed and grow. Sun and rain fell as it had for thousands of years. Without Melkor seething in the darkness, labors were eased. 

On the subject of those stars, Manwë turned to his bride, “My dear, the Mariner has carried the Silmaril on his brow in honor, lighting troubles here on earth for his terrible combat. Yet our heroes did not come to the changeling's aid. Is it wise to wake them in this time of upset?"

She smiled the most perfect smile, "They are woken, my love. Dear Arien's path to carry the winter sun is the same as our champion Eärendil's summer star." 

The great Vala King realized the orc had, in the parlance of the mortals, 'pulled a fast one' - aiming his rocket of flaming Melkor directly across the Silmaril-bearer's evening arc. His lovely wife came to his aid, "I will take the Evenstar into my charge. Let all our brave knights return to the soil of the Undying Lands.”

Yes, it shall be done. Now; what to do with the presumptuous changeling? He had offered himself in exchange, but his sorcerous powers were not all bestowed by reputable sources. Had Saruman created spirits in his fell creatures like the greater dark ones had? The Uruk-hai was little different than the Witch-King and his eight specters – enhanced and promoted from mortal men. The Kath’s humors were increasing while the Valar’s were fading. 

Manwë decided the Kath had come by his powers earnestly. At need he could strip them away. Orórin was shown to the circle and the King asked, “Are you still committed to your counsel, old friend?”

Gandalf said in his strong, low voice, “I am, Sire.”

“Then let us hear from Lord Irmo and Lady Estë.” 

With a nod from Manwë, Irmo spoke in his clear, resonant voice, “My friends, for two months a being of power was our guest, someone capable of relieving my Estë of her burdens for a time. We respectfully ask for a long period of apprenticeship to help heal the many hurts My Lady now bears alone.”

Ulmo, who came to council only at great need like this, said in his deep baritone, “My Lady Estë, long have you taken the brunt of pain in this world. Are you in accord?”

“Oh yes, Lord Ulmo. This was my idea. I have confidence, but may need all of your support to teach what I do not know.”

Nessa, swift and most junior of the Valier, glanced at her brother Oromë before asking, “And what of the other?”

Irmo answered thoughtfully, “Her husband also has powers as you have seen, with more experience controlling them. It may be some time before young Inariel can assume her duties. We need both changelings working together in the healing. Then they can shoulder the burdens at times for Estë to rest, or when there is great need. As my beloved wife said; we hope we can count on your support in preparing them both.”

Vána wondered, “How came she by these gifts?

The Master of Desires was prepared for that, “Nag Kath received his power from Saruman, and Inariel from him when he made her immortal.” He looked at his wife, “We are not sure how. Through her parents she is the sole undying female descendant of Melian. Both are the only known transfers of power from the Maiar, converging in her. She was almost lost to us three times and is only now healthy enough to realize her calling."

Estë added, “The lass is also descended from Galadriel who has unexplained gifts even after her ring is but ornamentation. And her father Aragorn was a healer in their fashion.”

Nessa had one more question about the male, "And why was the Quendu not called to us like his wife?"

Irmo was less sure of this reply, "All his life he thought he was an Elf living like a man. He was really a Maia, living as a man. There is a fair measure of Elf and Maiar in him, but the Maia grows stronger. He now knows that."

Manwë gazed around the room. In ósanwe mind-speak he called the vote. The council agreed that the youngsters would be trained to use their gifts in the service of the Lady Estë. The King said in true voice, “Let it be done. Lord and Lady of the Garden, you have my blessing.”

The King turned to Lord Oromë, “I call upon you to assist in practical aspects of their tutelage.” 

To borrow another phrase from the world of men, Oromë the Great Huntsman had ‘pulled a few strings’ to help Nag Kath succeed with hints of power here and there. The faintest call of the color, only detectable by its ultimate author, found the changeling in the cave of ice and breathed on the ember just enough to be felt by hidden spirits of Middle-earth. Humors were enhanced after Orc Six crossed the Belegaer Sea. 

Oromë’s hunting forests were just on the other side of the Pelóri Mountains from the tear in the fabric Selvas used for his indiscreet, desperate plea and Melkor’s powerful response. He also felt the seed of his servant Pallando as it grew in the lordless soil. 

This was as close as Oromë’s assistance would ever come to acknowledgment in the council. If not universally appreciated, it was effective. The two changelings could not balance the loss of the most powerful Ainu Melkor, but their contribution might be enough that Eru Ilúvatar did not need to reorder the way of things. In a mere thousand years or so, the children's training should be complete. 

It would be time well spent.

**_Epilog_ **

Inariel was half of him, inheriting everything Nag Kath possessed except the gift of color, which was his alone. She more than made up for that by being the only female heir of Melian who, after convincing by the Lord and Lady of the Garden, agreed to help develop the pretty child. It was Melian's blood-force driving Inariel into Elvish crisis, not Aragorn's. As had happened before, the changeling’s instincts were right in redrawing Arwen, reminding Melian that good things came of her legacy in Middle-earth. 

Nag Kath had a hand in preserving four extraordinary lines of women. The image of Queen Nepthat returned again and again. In the east were women descended from Chûran. No less beautiful were Orlo's healers of Nurad and Viersh. A much more powerful legacy was made immortal through his beloved Inariel. 

Lord and Lady Eärendil were returned to the daily time of Aman with his parents Tuor and Idril. Great heroes like Glorfindel were given form from the stasis of honor with full immortality restored. Their skills needn’t be kept locked-away now that the battle was not to be. Elrond daily blessed his grandson and grand-daughter for that kindness - along with Gandalf for helping guide his rocket. The changeling readily admitted he could never aim them well.

Details are difficult to find about Nag Kath and Inariel after the council. We can assume Nag Kath and Orlo shared their experience in the east, long enough neglected by the Valar that men of those lands reordered local pantheons to fit the pall of Sauron’s dominion. We do know that men of the east clung to their notions of heavenly rule but those of Thân zîrân readily adopted the western view. 

Since their presence was only occasionally needed in the Gardens of Lórien, the couple traveled everywhere in Aman and often stayed with Lord Cirdan in his cities on the sea. Fonë gossiped to friends that the apprentice Maiar couple may have even visited their families in Middle-earth. He did know that they sought one of Fëanor’s stones – not a Silmaril – just a stone. Healers across the Belegaer became more numerous and skilled in passing hurts through Ulmo’s waters. From recorded lore we learned Nag Kath and Inariel’s elder daughter married Heliman, a Prince of the Teleri in Alqualondë. Her younger sister wed Kelambor, a very respectable young Ñoldorin.

All else is left to the imagination of those whose paths they crossed in their extraordinary journey. One cannot help but hope Miss Told was right and they lived happily to the end of their days.


End file.
